


Yellow Box Collection

by manic_intent



Category: Cable and Deadpool, Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Collected stories from the Cable Deadpool Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 06:05:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 87,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14710517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: This is a collection of my 2009-2010 stories from the Cable/Deadpool kink meme, edited for easier reading.





	1. Samaritan

**Author's Note:**

> People who've been following me since the Cable/Deadpool days would probably note that one story in particular is missing here: Through the Mirror. I wrote that before my personal decision never to write noncon again. The story's still up on livejournal, but I'm not proud of my old noncon stuff. 
> 
> For everything else, I've tried to group the stories in terms of 'verse and easy reading, and edit out all the non-inclusive language and jokes. 9 years++ in fandom has helped me grow as a writer, and more importantly as a person, so I hope that's now reflected in my work. I also haven't included the non-Cable/Deadpool stuff (Deadpool/Nate Grey, etc).
> 
> The stories that require (in my opinion) less context to read will be up first (Wolverine filmverse era), with the ones that require the most context (Providence comics era / Messiah War era) at the back.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Time Travel fic! Nate meets a younger Wade, who has yet to become Deadpool.

Bodysliding during battle was almost always an incredibly bad idea. A little disruption in the wrong place at the wrong time tended to be tricky with technology from his adoptive timeline. Nate fell helplessly through the whirling timestream, flailing for purchase.  
  
Since the Fantastic Four had been part of the battle in question in Manhattan, Nate didn't doubt that someone would eventually be bothered to sift through time to get him out. Or at the very least,  _Wade_ would-

#

The headaches and the growing nervelessness in the tips of his fingers were getting worse, and the twelve pills he took a  _day_  weren't much help. Wade was losing his edge. The worst thing was, there was nothing the hell he could do.   
  
Three months ago, the bodyguards of his now-deceased mark wouldn't have managed to box him in like this, playing cat and mouse in the abandoned remains of an old underground carpark.  
  
Five months ago, he'd have sensed the man who'd sidled around to flank him. Dodged the bullet before it ripped through his shoulder.  
  
One  _year_  ago, the mark would have been dead long ago with no one the wiser. Still. No use crying over his hand of cards. Wade sat down heavily behind the shell of a rusted car and a sprawl of moldering boxes, slotting ammunition back into his remaining revolver with practiced ease. To the left, twenty-three metres or so away, the guards hit the first of his traps.  _Poom_. Wade's smile was humorless as he took a bead on the first man to cautiously stick his head around a cracked pillar. Fired.  
  
Acrid gunsmoke, screams, blood, and the roasting stench of human meat. This was  _his_  world. Looked like he was doomed to die in it today. Wade drew his hand over his mouth as he coughed. The palm came away spotted with red.  
  
_Almost time._  Wade uncurled from his cover, firing, his teeth grit shut against the primal shout bubbling in his lungs. He was ready to die. Better this way, in guns and smoke and fire, than coughing out his lungs in 'Nessa's arms–  
  
Then the miracle happened. A rectangle of yellow light opened up over the guards. Someone barrelled out into one of them, swearing. Silver hair, tight black shirt, khaki pants. Army, Wade surmised, then  _mutant_ , at the sight of the man's glowing left eye, the savage, ugly pale scars over his skin. Most of all, at the disturbingly organic-looking metal that overlapped in seamless mail down half of the man's body.   
  
The guards froze, as shocked as Wade. Reacted with gunfire. Bullets froze in a blue shield that crackled up around the mutant. He dragged a rifle from the nerveless hands of the man he had fallen upon, his lips curling into a snarl as he returned fire in savage kind. Cordite and the Fourth of July, screams that soon bubbled to death's harsh rattles. Soon all the guards were dead. The mutant was breathing hard, lowering the barrel of his gun and rubbing at the ridge of his nose.   
  
Wade must have moved. Made some sound. The mutant looked sharply over at him. Wade had his gun cocked and aimed a split second before the mutant recovered in kind, but he didn't fire.  
  
"Don't think you're working for Mister Williamson," Wade managed to rasp. His hand was shaking, ever so slightly. "So what about we just walk away and forget we ever saw each other, friend?"  
  
The mutant frowned. The barrel of his rifle lowered just a fraction. " _Wade_?"  
  
"Now where'd you hear that from?" Wade narrowed his eyes. "That isn't a name I use much around these parts, friend, and I'm not too sure I like it." He was bluffing, of course. He could barely-

"You can barely stand," the mutant said. He dropped the rifle dropped and walked towards him. Wade didn't realize he had the wall to his back, both hands on his revolver, until the mutant held up both his hands, palms forward. "I'm not going to hurt you, Wade."  
  
"The last time I fell for that was in grade school," Wade returned, a little too sharply. Funny thing, that. He wasn't often afraid. 'Nessa would beg to differ, but what did she know about running away from the opposition?  
  
"Believe me, Wade."   
  
He wasn't firing. Wade told himself this was because bullets obviously had no effect on the mutant, but he wasn't even  _trying_. Just let the mutant walk all the way up to him, gently push down his gun. Wade flinched as the man pressed his metallic palm against his forehead.   
  
"You have a fever," the mutant said. He sounded upset. Weird. "And your eyes. These." A finger pressed against the blood clots growing on his lips before he could pull away. "The cancer. Wade, you're... you're still  _human_."  
  
"And you know a little too much about me and mine for my comfort, Mister Mutant," Wade said sharply. He pushed the barrel of his revolver under the mutant's chin, even though he knew it was futile. The headache was growing worse now that the adrenaline was running out. Wade was growing dizzy. "Name. Reason. Now."   
  
"Nathan Askani'son Dayspring Summers."  
  
"... Wow. Your parents must'a really hated you," Wade managed, before staggering forward. Lights out.

#

Renting a motel room with what little money Nate could find in Wade's clothes was a difficult, even with telepathy cloaking the organic steel of his body and the glow of his left eye. Eventually, Nathan managed to find a place with no questions and a clean bed. Wade was pale, thin and shaking. The clots on his lips and under his skin were all that was currently visible of the cancer ravaging his body.   
  
A hospital wouldn't help, that much Nate knew. Besides, he doubted that Wade in any form or time would appreciate institutions. Nate managed to get the merc's boots and coat off before Wade woke up, sitting up in bed with a start and groping for weapons that Nate had long carefully divested and hidden under the ratty couch.   
  
"So, Nathan," Wade said, his voice getting steadier by the minute, "didn't your mother tell you it's rude to kidnap mercenaries?"  
  
"I'm not kidnapping you," Nate said, patient. "When was the last time you ate?"  
  
At the briefly blank look on Wade's face, Nate sighed. "I'm going to get something. Can I trust you to rest?"  
  
"Out the window and down the alley the moment your back's turned," Wade said. He smiled a lopsided smile with the ghost of the manic future self. Wade was handsome still. He had an oddly open, good-humored face and an unruly mop of dyed black hair. Only his eyes were the same as futu... _Deadpool's_ , unreadable. "Once I find out where you hid my swords."  
  
"I'll be back in five minutes."  
  
Ten minutes later, Nate was arranging Chinese takeout and cups of tea on the sole rickety table of the room. Wade laid out a careful line of large pills on a strip of tissue, his katanas already strapped over his back.   
  
"These two before eating," Wade explained, popping them in his mouth and swallowing them with a quick gulp of tea. "The rest after." At Nate's expression, Wade grinned, mirthless. "It isn't too bad until your hair starts going. But I reckon that's the bane of any man's life, sooner or later."  
  
Wade was friendly again, in the way Deadpool tended to be friendly, all jokes and smiles and knives behind his back. Nate made a noncommittal sound and sat down opposite him, eating.   
  
"So. You didn't answer, earlier. Reason," Wade said.  
  
"I'm from the future," Nate said. In his experience, walking around the truth only tended to bog it down further. "I knew you then."

"Can't be very far in the future," Wade said, though he did open his box of food. The way he picked through it with the chopsticks betrayed a lack of appetite that stemmed more from the drugs than from Nate's presence. "If you still had time to know me."  
  
"Quite far, actually."  
  
"Hnn. Say I don't believe you."  
  
"Your surname is Wilson. You like Bea Arthur. Your favorite colors are red and black. When you sleep, you tend to curl up to your right. You're a mercenary for hire now, but you used to play for black ops. You started off as a teacher, you and your wife. Also, you've likely just heard of a programme sponsored by the Canadian Government. Top secret."  
  
Wade's eyebrows had risen when he'd started speaking, then his expression had shut down abruptly at the end. "And what do you know about this programme, futureboy?"  
  
Nate drew in a breath. He knew the danger of what he was about to do, the sheer inadvisability of it. He couldn't stop himself. "That you'll regret participating in it for the rest of your life."  
  
Wade didn't talk much after that. He ate mechanically, his eyes always darting quickly away from Nate's metallic hands. When Wade had sipped his tea to dregs, he exhaled. "All right, I'll bite. Boxers or briefs?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Me."  
  
"Boxers. With patterns."   
  
"So. The programme makes me bi?"  
  
Nate swallowed a cup of tea the wrong way. While he was coughing, Wade laughed, warm and  _human_  and, the very worst of all, beautifully and absolutely sane. "How else would you know, friend?"  
  
"The programme affected your  _sanity_ ," Nate said, a little defensively. "It will also disfigure you. It doesn't cure cancer. It just stops it. They'll inject you with mutant genes. A healing factor, tailored against cancer. It'll stop your cancer as long as it is in effect, but it'll accelerate tumors all over your skin."   
  
"Disfigure me. How bad does it get?"  
  
"You don't want to know," Nate said. He watched as Wade poured himself more tea from the thermos and swallowed the rest of his pills.  
  
"So I become insane and ugly. But still alive." Wade tapped thoughtfully on his cheek. "What happens after?"  
  
"You stay a mercenary."  
  
"Bitter and alone?"  
  
"Not particularly."  
  
"That's better than now, then," Wade said, his smile too lonely and frank for Nate's comfort. "Did you really come back to save my ass?"  
  
"It was an accident," Nate said, "but I'll stay here with you as long as I can. Until I get summoned back."  
  
"Are all my friends in the future like you?"  
  
"Some."  
  
"So it gets better," Wade said. He poured a third cup of tea with hands that shook only slightly. "It all gets  _better_."

#

Unfortunately, Nate kept to his word. He stuck closely to Wade even during the last job Wade was taking to pay off the last of his debts. Make enough for the trip to the location, and leave a little something for 'Nessa.   
  
Fighting regular humans was terribly boring when you had someone by your side who could cheat and deflect bullets.   
  
Nate's presence, however, felt- 

#

"... and then the Mother Superior said, 'It's probably for the best. You've done nothing but bitch since you got here.''"   
  
"That's terrible," Nate said. He couldn't help the faint smirk, though. Wade laughed anyway, enough for the both of them. The both of them were slouched on his sofa, a six pack of beer in various stages of demise over his carpet. Wade had his laptop over his knees, wiring money to various accounts. Something that one should only do while sober.  
  
"You don't know living," Wade retorted, waving his half-finished can of beer at Nate. "What about the one with the priest and the bank robber?"   
  
"Haven't heard that one either."  
  
"In the future," Wade said, "people have obviously lost all their humor. It starts with a bank robber, running from the law. Police on his tail, nowhere to go, so he runs into a church." He sounded mournful and more than a little tipsy. Wade was more like Deadpool when his tongue was loosened by beer.  
  
It had been two weeks and Nathan was wondering if he was ever getting back. What was worse, he didn't want to leave Wade like this. The merc was stable normally, but after a fight or whenever he drank, he worsened. They never did speak about Weapon X since that night, but Nate could sense it was never far from Wade's mind without even reading it.  
  
"So he shoots this priest, and then the police shoot him. There's this mix-up, see, and the robber goes to heaven, the priest to hell. You listening, Nate?"  
  
"Yeah. And then?"  
  
"Then the angels and demons find the mistake. While they're changing places, the priest and the robber, they meet in the middle. The priest says, 'I can't wait to meet the Virgin Mary!' And the robber says, 'She's not a virgin anymore.'" Wade paused for a while. He sighed and slumped back against the sofa. "You're not laughing."  
  
"No. Want me to?"  
  
Wade grinned, unfocused from the alcohol. He crossed his feet over the coffee table. Drank. "I'm going to the facility tomorrow. The one we talked about."  
  
"Ah." Nate had been waiting all night for Wade to say this, after noting the discreetly hidden backpack in the merc's wardrobe while attempting to find a spare towel.  
  
"I reckon..." Wade finished his can of beer. He crinkled it in his hand, tossed it away and reached for another. "Reckon at the very least, I'm better off alive."  
  
"All right."  
  
"You don't approve?"  
  
"I don't think I can answer that," Nate said carefully.  
  
"Time paradoxes?"  
  
"Something like that."  
  
"Huh. Liar," Wade said, good-humored. "You  _want_  me to be ugly and bi. Hell, I've probably been pan all along, just that I've repressed all of it with violence and alcohol and societal conditioning."  
  
"You're..." Nate paused, recalling a certain episode of unfortunate shared but manly moments involving female mercenaries. "At least, I don't think so."  
  
"Just for the record," Wade slurred, leaning forward drunkenly, "m'pretty sure I'm bi. At the least. Never told anyone until now."  
  
Nate had seen the kiss coming, but he was  _still_  surprised when it happened. 

#

Wade woke up with a hangover and a warm, too-heavy arm curled over his waist. He staggered over to the bathroom to wash the sour taste of stale beer and worse out of his mouth. Wade looked pale in the mirror, wan and sober. Still alive. And now he knew the way forward. Quietly, he dressed and picked up his backpack. Kissed Nate on the forehead and watched him mutter in his sleep. "See you in the future," Wade whispered. Outside, the morning was grey. Wade hailed a cab, whistling. There were worse ways to face the rest of your life.


	2. How to Pick Up Hot Telepaths in a Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Cable/Movie!Wade. Make it funny and awesome.

He should have left the Weapon X program earlier. Life was good when you didn't have a creepy boss and creepier teammates. Even better when you dictated your paychecks. 

Besides, now Wade could walk into a bar all by himself, no blades, no guns. Didn't have to worry about anyone recognising his face. He could enjoy a little bit of flirting and have people buy him a drink without worrying about being hungover and risk getting eviscerated by Creed on the next mission.

Best of all, Wade could walk up to cute strangers and introduce himself. Give his real name, not any of the myriad monikers he often had trouble remembering on morning afters. There was a muscular man seated at the bar who was just his type. Black shirt, khaki cargos, probably dog tags somewhere under the tight cotton. From the side, the stranger looked like a younger, bulky version of Bruce Willis, his hair an odd shade of white and his square jaw unshaven. 

There was something a little too uniform about the left half of the stranger's face, something that spending the last couple of years of his life mutant hunting had given Wade the experience to pick out. 

"Couple of beers, on me," Wade told the bartender. He settled on the stool next to the mutant and extended a hand. "Hey. Name's Wade Wilson."

The mutant stared at his hand, then at the beer the bartender pushed up to him. He nursed his own drink instead in silence. The sudden tension obvious in the mutant's shoulders told Wade exactly what sort of ability this one had, so he took his beer, swiveled around and drank.

"If you look closely, friend, you'll notice I've quit doing all that."

"And this is a coincidence?" The mutant had a rough, deep voice, pleasant to hear even when dripping with sarcasm. 

"Exactly. Up until someone pays me, I'm just like Mother Theresa." 

"Hard to believe."

"You're the one who can poke around other people's attics. I just wanted to buy you a drink."

"Really."

"Yes, really." And just because he could, and because he'd always wanted to do this in front of a telepath, Wade began to imagine said telepath naked.

The mutant choked on his drink, flushing lightly.

"I'm sorry, did I say something?" Wade asked innocently. Naked mutant plus the Napoleon Dynamite dance in slow motion. With Tom Jones' Sex Bomb music. Take that, nameless mutant person.

"You have a very... graphic imagination," the mutant said. He hastily finished his drink.

"You want graphic, wait till I start with the inventive propositioning." Wade tried his dirtiest smirk. "Just offhand, I can think of twelve different positions."

The mutant narrowed his eyes, giving him a cursory once-over. Out of habit, Wade took a mental note of where the beer bottles were behind him. Just in case this turned from a rather creative come-on into a barfight. Then the mutant coughed, looking away when Wade drew up something nice and public and non-family-oriented with regards to the shiny bar counter. When Wade started with his favorite imaginary scenario for 'Alley Sex and Me', the mutant cleared his throat.

"You have a place?" 

Hah! Wraith owed him money now. This sort of thing definitely worked with telepaths.

"It did not." There was a glare, but the mutant's single, obviously real eye narrowed with something darker. The other stayed blank.

"Usually guys have to tell me their names before I let them fuck me in dark alleys."

The bartender coughed pointedly.

"My name," the mutant said, with great dignity, "is Nathan Summers." The edges of his mouth twitched. Promising.

"Nice to meet you too, Nate."

"And we are not doing anything in an alley."

"Prude." Wade brought up another visual. 

"Or that."


	3. Salads and Scrambled Eggs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Domestic Fluff

Wade loves watching Nate cook. It’s not just because of the cool Magician’s Apprentice way that the chicken’s being self-basted in the oven while the vegetables get washed and chopped, all without Nate having to lift a physical finger. It’s not just the adorable way Nate stares at the recipe book as though it contains the secrets to the universe. 

It’s the apron.

The _red_ apron.

Over a faded blue shirt and black track pants, the Red Apron looks way too good. Hell, the red strings that tie the apron down over the small of Nate’s back are probably trailing down the cleft of that perfect ass. Wade grins. He’s perched cross-legged on the bar stool up against the kitchen counter, chewing on a carrot. 

“I know what you’re thinking. Stop,” Nate tells him. The carrots peel and chop themselves. The spinach leaves flip into a colander in the smaller sink. In the larger sink, the tap turns on as a bowl washes itself. 

“What exactly am I thinking about?” Wade asks innocently. Wade reaches for another julienned carrot. The nice thing about an open-plan kitchen in a too-expensive slice of New York was that Wade could always see what Nate was doing. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” As the potatoes scrub themselves, Nate turns the pages in the book. A pot fills itself with water and floats over to boil on the stove. “I’m cooking dinner, Wade.” 

“Your mind’s doing the walking.” Wade pats the second stool with a cheeky smirk. “What about you come over here to read?”

“Remember the last time I did that?” Oh yeah. There’d been chaos in the kitchen, a burned casserole, and a kitchen counter that had to be thoroughly disinfected. “Wait until after dinner.”

“You’re in an apron.” Wade leans his chin on his hands as Nate turns to check on the chicken. Yesss. Red ribbons. Nate’s ass. Wade hums in appreciation, even as Nate shoots him a stern look over his shoulder.

“Wade.”

“Sorry. Apron.” A soft mental touch brushes over his lips. Wade laughs. The lid of the pot opens as the water began to boil and the potatoes slip into the water. “Uh-uh. Remember what we agreed about invisible touches, Priscilla.”

“We can follow up with the real thing. _After dinner_.”

“When’s dinner?”

“Forty minutes.”

“I’ll be old by then!”

“Watch some TV.”

“TV rots your brain. That’s what you told me yesterday.” Wade swivels around on the stool and sprawls onto the counter over his arms. Now he’s on eye level with the book and Nate’s ass. Nate sighs. He walks over and presses a kiss on Wade’s lips. As he pulls back, Wade’s arm shoots up. He curls fingers around the nape of Nate’s neck and pulls him down for more. 

Four kisses afterwards, the bowls in the sink begin to falter. Nate winces at the hard clinking sound of porcelain falling against porcelain even as he cups the sides of Wade’s head, thumbs tracing the scars. 

“If dinner burns—”

“We can get pizza. C’mon over here.” 

Nate shakes his head, but he circles around to take Wade into his arms for a deeper kiss. He growls as Wade purrs and wraps his legs around Nate’s waist. “Lubricant,” Nate gasps.

“I’ve always wanted to try this with extra virgin olive oil!”

“…No.”


	4. Tangled Up in Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: What if Nate is the crazy, morally-questionable, deformed merc and Wade is the holier-than-thou savior wannabe?
> 
> Takes place in Wolverine Movieverse, an AU where Cable is also caught by the Weapons X program. Wade escapes with Logan.

The school smelled of brats and mown grass and hidden metal. Logan pushed open the unlocked gates. He tugged his hat close over his eyes, hunched his shoulders, and pushed his hands into his jeans. Behind him, Wilson was exchanging increasingly ludicrous if good-natured insults in an Indian dialect with the cab driver. He paid and trotted up, still running his mouth.

“This is it? Really? Looks a little more Playboy Mansion than Sunnydale High, if you ask me. Kids in tights and boob windows? What will their parents think?” 

Welcoming party. Huh. Bald man in a wheelchair had to be Professor Xavier. Around him were brats of different sizes, but not all of them were kids. The first inkling of doubt crept into Logan’s mind as he approached. As to Wilson–hell, Wilson was too damned good at picking up on his mannerisms. 

“And a little more Sound of Music than School of Rock, eh? Wolvie?” Wilson was clearly enjoying this. He’d circled up to Logan’s side, his duffel bag jingling against his back and his katanas strapped in a cross over his jacket. The violence inside him rose against Wilson’s smirk. Logan almost gave into the impression to rip a new one over Wilson’s too-pretty face. Stifling it only widened the smirk on it. Wilson sketched a mocking bow at their audience. 

“So we have a bald guy in a bad sweater, a handful of hot young women, and a handful of uninteresting young men. I smell… _sitcom_ –” The rest of Wilson’s yammer cut itself off as Wolverine caught him pointedly on the shoulder, grip tightening in warning. Some of the kids’ eyes looked shocked. They were all far too green for this to be anything more than Logan had thought it was. A real goddamned school for mutant kids.

Good.

“Cerebro informed me that one mutant was coming to my school,” Xavier said. He sounded untroubled as he glanced between Logan and Wilson. “But I could not pick the thoughts from either of your minds.”

“Wilson is human–”

“Am not.”

“–but not in every sense o’ the word. He’s been followin’ me around, can’t seem t’shake him.”

“Because even big angry mutant puppies need loooove–”

“Wilson. Shut up for just one goddamned minute. Name’s Logan. Heard you help mutants.” As introductions and requests for help went, this one was admittedly less than impressive. “The stalker’s name is Wade Wilson. Once you figure out how t’tune out his mouth, you get used t’him.”

“How did you find out about us?” Xavier asked, even as some of the kids murmured to themselves. Logan’s preternatural senses caught _dangerous_ and _don’t like this_. Xavier shot a steady glance at the redhead and the kid with the red visor. That shut them up.

“I got friends in high places, bub.”

“Always in high places,” Wilson chirped in, with a broad grin for the dark-skinned girl with the silver hair. “Oh _hello_ baby.”

“What help do you need, Logan?” Xavier asked politely, ignoring Silver Hair’s scowl. “As you can see, this is a school for young mutants. Here they learn how to control their abilities. You do not appear to need help of that nature.”

“You’ve got somethin’ here called Cerebro. I want you t’use that t’take a good long look in my head. Some things I’ve been made t’forget. I want that fixed. I don’t got money, but I reckon Wilson an’ I could help you out in other ways,” Logan said. He looked at the kids, noting how they slouched and stood loosely in an indefensible clump like herd animals. Should’ve been standing spread out and watchful, if they’d been a combat-ready team.

“A last question, Logan. A personal one, I’m afraid. What is your mutant ability? You must understand, this is a school for children. Any abilities with environmental side effects must be disclosed,” Xavier said.

Logan flexed his wrists, let the claws come. Some of the kids gasped and stepped back. The Professor watched, impassive, as Logan slipped two claws back into his right hand and punched the last claw through his left wrist.

“A healing factor,” Xavier surmised, as the wound closed.

“Logan… wait… ow!” Wilson yelped as Logan grabbed his wrist and pushed his claw through his palm. “I hate it when you do that.”

“Two healing factors,” Xavier said, “and I can sense from your accents that you are both Canadians.”

“What, do they put something in the maple syrup?” The question was from a freckled kid with ice over his fists, eyes all wide and shocked at the sight of blood. 

“Hey, smart-aleck remarks are _my_ province,” Wilson protested, rubbing absently at his healed palm. He pretended to pout at Logan. “We’re going to hate it here, puppy.” 

Logan sniffed, even as Xavier said, “Welcome to the Mansion.”

#

“This is weird.”

Wade didn’t look up as Kitty phased through the roof to sit next to his elbow. “What is?” 

“You by yourself, staring up at the stars.” Kitty leaned back, small hands on the filthy tiles. “Didn’t figure you for the sort.”

“I have to take a break from needling Humorless Furry Clawed Man every so often. Funnybone needs to charge back up.” 

“If you stop, he’ll miss it.” Kitty grinned cheekily. “Seriously though. The two of you’ve been part of the X-Men for two months and only the Professor knows anything about who you are.”

“He did give you the Cliff Notes version, didn’t he?”

“I gather it left out all the interesting parts.”

“Could say that. I came out less fucked over than most.” Somedays Wade still dreamed that he was in the Tank, floating in viscous fluid, tubes up to his arms and spidering around his face. Screaming into nothing.

“Y’all still get nightmares.” When Wade glanced over, Kitty sobered. “I’m just next door, y’know. And Bobby, he’s next to Logan’s room. Says Logan’s the same, some nights.” 

“I see. Sorry about that.” Wade wasn’t sure whether he should bring this up with Logan. 

“Hey. Wasn’t your fault. You know that, c’mon.”

Wade shrugged. Looked back up at the stars. “I had cancer before I joined the black ops thing. They gave me Logan’s healing factor to cure it, after studying and amending it to make sure it’d jive with my immune system. Memory before then’s all shot to pieces, but I think I came out pretty much on top. Logan, though, they fucked him over good. Professor can’t even fix his mind. I don’t think metal’s the only thing they put into him. Something else, something made him feral.” Kitty blinked. “What, you think that metal on his bones is natural?”

“Oh.”

“So I think I owe him,” Wade said, with a nonchalant wave. “My gravelly Bruce Willis voice keeps him stable. You should see how quickly he snaps out of one of his ‘rawrr kill destroy!’ moments once I start singing anything from The Sound of Music.” 

“Hah, really?”

“Try that next time you try and get one up over him at training.” 

“Logan doesn’t train.”

“Only joking. I said they fucked him over good, didn’t I? There are no degrees for him in fighting. He’s either ‘not fighting’, or ‘all the way fighting’, and the last bit involves people dying.” Wade pretended to leer. “While I, of course, naturally enjoy getting physical with nubile young women… ow!”

“You’re a sick puppy, Wade.” Kitty laughed. “Though, if you let off on the endless chatter, you are actually kinda cute.”

“Jailbait isn’t my type, sadly,” Wade said archly, “though I’d make an exception for nurses.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“ _Don’tcha wish your boyfriend Spi-der-man was–_ ”

“Wade, don’t you dare.”

“– _hoooot like me… ow!_ ”

“If people like you can believe in Xavier, I guess the world really is worth helping out.” Kitty retracted her foot from Wade’s temple. 

“Who said anything about believing in Xavier?”

“Then?”

“Free food, free clothes, accommodation, nubile young women-”

“And Logan?” Kitty smirked.

“I owe him. But that’s all, jailbait.” Wade swiped Kitty the one finger salute. “Dare you to make that comment in front of Logan.”

“Sooo. You like cougars?”

“Mrowr. Depends how big their disposable income is.”

“Hah! Liar. You left someone back in black ops land, didn’t you?”

“And what makes you say that, jailbait girl?”

“You just went all Serious Wade on me when I said that,” Kitty said triumphantly, “and I bet she looks a lot like Ororo, ‘cos you always treat her special.” 

“You have good eyes and a mouth that’ll get you into trouble, girl.” Wade crossed his legs and stretched them out further. 

Someone back at Weapon X. Something like that. Wasn’t quite so simple. Besides, it wasn’t as though he could go back. Not now. This place with its brats and its paraplegic visionary and the wholesome low-GI free-range food was helping Logan. It made the Wolverine far calmer than Wade had ever seen him. The kids didn’t get along with Logan. Some things never changed no matter which place they crashed at or hid out. But Wade didn’t go easy on his debts, and he’d stay here as long as Logan needed the Mansion and its teacher’s dream. 

“I’m learning from a master.” Kitty folded her legs underneath her. “Ever thought about going back for that someone?”

“Little more worried about being _found._ ”

#

Stryker hunched under his thick coat against the chill and the stink of the sea. The warehouse looked empty and dark under Norway’s fast-fading pale sun, but he knew better. Even with Victor behind him, Stryker felt uneasy.

This particular prodigal son had been one of the very best products of the Weapon X program, even at its peak. As good as the Wolverine. Not only had this mutant come into their hands with technology that had been reverse-engineered to create equipment for Weapon X’s products that far out-rivaled any equivalent in this time, he also had a very interesting virus. A virus which Weapon X had learned how to control, with nascent nano-technology. 

Then Wade Wilson had engineered his spectacular and unexpected escape from the program. He’d taken the Wolverine with him and destroyed the central control center that kept all the mutant weapons in check. The virus went berserk in all its carriers. In its primary host the most of all. Stryker had barely escaped from the facility with his life. 

“He’s here,” Victor said, sniffing the air. His mane of thick fur protected him from the cold. Sabertooth’s smile was indented by sharp teeth and a violent cruelty that could only be held in check by greed. 

“Of course he is. The reports were sound.”

Victor laughed noiselessly, staring straight to his right where there was only empty space beside an overturned boat covered with discoloured tarpaulin. “I meant he’s _here_. Cable. I can smell you.”

 _Before I kill you both and use your meat to bait my salmon hooks, I have to say... Stryker, I had no idea you were this reckless._ Cable’s voice in his mind was a metallic whisper, deceptively emotionless.

“I have something to show you, Cable.” Stryker took the manila folder carefully from under his jacket. “Here.” 

The folder was yanked from his grasp. It opened in the cold, the reports and photographs within it fanning out in a wide circle around the tarpaulin. _Recent?_ asked the whisper in his mind.

“Oh yes.” Stryker smiled, gaining confidence. “Wade Wilson was spotted crossing the Mexican border two and a half months ago. We didn’t get a fix on his companion, but we can guess. They dropped out of sight again afterwards, but we think we’re getting close.”

 _Hn._ One photograph glided close, then away again. _And you need my help._

“My interest is in the Wolverine. I need you merely to extract Deadpool from his side. Together, they will be more than what my strike force can handle. Apart, the Wolverine’s uncontrollable berserker rage makes him easy to control.”

_And what makes you believe I will help you?_

“Isn’t that obvious, Cable? You know now that Wilson is in America. You don’t know which part. With this inhibitor, you can’t read me, and I’m the only person who knows where they are,” Stryker said.

A dry, mirthless laugh rattled in his mind. _Creed knows._

Stunned, Stryker turned. “Victor? ”

Victor merely grinned his toothy grin. “I may look like this but I ain’t stupid, ‘boss’. You won’t be letting me kill Logan when we find him. Just figured I’d sell out t’someone who will.” 

“You…” The rest of Stryker’s words faded into a scream as he began to bleed profusely from shallow cuts that opened up at even intervals all over his skin. Victor watched, breathing deeply. Stryker fell to his knees in agony, clawing at his skin, his hair. He curled, fetal and gasping wetly, soiling himself until he was finally still. Blood pooled thick and red on filthy concrete.

“Huh. That was entertainin’.”

“I should kill you as well,” Cable said as he faded into view. The big mutant was cross-legged on the boat, his large rifle cradled in his arms. A thick woolen hood was pulled down far enough to cast all of his face into shadow. Cable was wrapped heavily in a thick parka, boots, khaki pants, and gloves.

Victor watched as Stryker was dragged back by an unseen force, painting a streak of blood over the concrete. The body was dumped over the side into the harbour. “You need a distraction. You want Wilson, but he’s squirreled good in a school full o’ muties, two o’ who are more than capable o’ trouncin’ you at mind tricks.” 

“One is a child,” Cable said, observing the reports that fanned around him. He folded them neatly back into the folder and tucked it into his parka. “The only one of any threat would be Professor Xavier.”

“Going t’ice him first?”

“I am a mercenary now,” Cable reminded him, in a flat monotone. “Save where necessary, it would only be a waste of resources.”

#

“Fury!” Wilson threw arms wide as though inviting an embrace. “How’s my favorite psycho government operative?”

“So he is here,” Fury said shortly as Logan closed the door behind them. Fury shot Wilson a quick, unimpressed once-over. Logan nodded curtly, slouching into one of the guest chairs. A sidelong glance at Xavier showed that as much as the Professor wasn’t showing it, he smelled tense. 

“Main characters have to appear in every interesting scene, Fury,” Wilson said with his usual cheer, sauntering around to flop into the third chair. Fury remained standing, his gloved hands clasped over his back. “Seeing as you’re only a Plot Development character in most continuities, I don’t expect you to understand.”

“When you mentioned you had friends in high places, Logan, on the first day, did you mean S.H.I.E.L.D.’s director?” Xavier asked.

“Yeah. Fury and I go way back.” Logan said, already dismissive. “Want t’tell me why you had t’come here all by yourself t’talk, Nick?”

“Stryker,” Fury said.

“Yeah? Found him yet?” Logan carefully stifled the instinctive violence that rose like bile at the name, the memories. He could sense Wilson watching him. Logan sank deeper into his chair, forcing calm. A long moment later Wilson followed suit, his tension smoothing away under his lean shoulders.

“Someone got to him first.” Fury walked over to Xavier’s desk and tossed an envelope upon it to Logan. 

“Huh.” Logan glanced at the first picture. He passed it to Wilson, who grinned viciously and looked pleased. “You know what he did. He had it comin’.” 

“Fish food! Talk about the biggest and ugliest bait _ever_ ,” Wilson crowed.

“I won’t argue whether or not he deserved it,” Fury said, with a sharp gesture. “We had a mole in his new operation, placed to inform us whenever it started its experiments again or any of its more… questionable procedures. Stryker went to see someone in Norway with your brother Victor Creed.”

“Big fuckin’ deal. So he went to scare up someone and got iced instead. You know if they got Victor?”

“Haven’t found a body. Our agent got us a copy of the folder that Stryker had taken with him.” The second large envelope on the table was passed over. “Look familiar to you?” 

Logan glanced through the folder, frowning. He passed it to Wilson as well, who blinked. “Wow. Secret admirer? I’ll never have thought it. I’m very flattered, you know. Even if half of these photos make my ass look big,” Wilson said.

“Don’t play with me, Logan. Wilson. The mutant known as Cable. You both told me he was dead. The cuts on what was left of Stryker’s body are too even for a knife, and too precise for the normal run of the mill psycho. Someone wanted him to suffer like hell in the last few minutes of his life.”

“Didn’t stay to check, if that’s all right with you,” Wilson said, the playfulness in his voice cooling quickly. “Thanks for the heads up, psycho government operative.”

“Cable’s dangerous in a way not even Creed can be,” Fury reminded them, focusing his one-eyed glare on Logan. “Destroying the facility made his virus unstable. S.H.I.E.L.D. will be keeping a close eye on you, but I want you to notify us if you so much as even think you saw him.” 

“So you can take a little more of his Weird Future STDs out of him and shoot it into some other unsuspecting muties during less ‘questionable’ procedures?” Wilson demanded, teeth bared. Logan cut him off sharply.

“Wilson. Shut up. Fury, we hear you. Thanks, but no thanks for the help. ‘Sides, I think Wilson and I have overstayed our welcome. Got t’be time t’go t’ground again.”

“Logan, you don’t mean that,” Wilson said, incredulous. “You like it here. You bitch all the time but you’ve been bitching without using swear words as punctuation. If Cable is coming, he’ll only be after me.”

“You don’t find it funny how Creed is conveniently missin’?”

“Maybe the fish thought he was tastier.” Wilson pulled a face. Smelled relieved. “Ah well. This was fun while it lasted, Professor.”

“Whatever your pasts may have been, whoever may be after you, you have a place here,” Xavier said forcefully. He leaned forward in his wheelchair. “You have both taught the children well. We could prepare against any eventualities.”

“But you don’t know what’s comin’ after us, Professor,” Logan said bluntly, “an’ it’s best that you don’t find out.” 

“I want to have the guy on your typewriter,” Wilson said.

Logan snorted. “Shut up, Wilson. Just go an’ pack.”

“Yeees boss. Do you want me to fold your underwear too?”

#

To Wade’s surprise, everyone was packed onto the stairway that led up to the bedrooms. Even Scott and Warren, despite the fact that Warren’s primary feathers still hadn’t been washed clean of its bars of hot purple paint. “Aww. You guys might make Logan cry,” Wade said.

Logan huffed irritably. As much as he looked as sour as ever, Wade had been around the Wolverine long enough to know when he was pleased. For one, Wade’s insistent impression that he was about to die violently let off a little. 

“You’re going. You’re both really going?” Kitty was the first to break the silence, her gaze darting between Logan and Wade.

“Eavesdroppin’ is a bad habit, kid,” Logan said. He didn’t make to push through the crowd. 

“Whatever could be after you guys,” Scott said, clearing his throat, “look. All of us here agree, maybe we don’t get along all the time, but this place is as much your home as for any of us, and–”

“Don’t make promises that will make you all the way dead,” Wade said, before Scott could stroke his nascent machismo a little more in front of his maybe-girlfriend. “You’re all kids barely out of being eligible for happy meals. All of you together haven’t seen even a pinky’s worth of the shit Logan and I have. It’s been fun. I liked it here, compulsory morning training and science lessons and all.”

“Actually it would be reasonable for the both of you to remain here,” Hank suggested. A big kid with a big brain, Hank towered over the other kids his age. “For all you know, whoever’s hunting you might already be headed here. They might come through us even if you’re both gone."

“Stop using logic on me, it makes my head hurt,” Wade said.

“Not if we make no effort t’hide for a while,” Logan countered, ignoring Wade’s complaint. “I know what’s comin’, an’ one o’ them don’t see the point in wastin’ time. This is a good place,” Logan added, with a glance at Xavier as the Professor wheeled himself out of his study. “Could be we’ll come back someday. When we can.”

“One more thing,” Wade said brightly, “If you see them, tell them we’re headed to Los Angeles. Always wanted to see Disneyland!” 

“None of us are going to tell them where you are,” Ororo said. Her arms folded tight over her ribs, lips pursed.

“You won’t need to,” Logan said gruffly. 

“Do I want to know why Disneyland?” Kitty asked.

“Well, I could do the usual and pinpoint a secluded forested area. But we have a lot of endangered species. And if I really want a place to blow shiet up in, it’ll have to be Disneyland,” Wade said. He didn’t add that in secluded wilderness areas, it just got that much harder to put a lid on Logan’s trigger. A plastic land of artificial scents, bright colors, cute sculptures, and tinny music would be the best bet he had for Logan to stay Logan after going up against Sabertooth. 

“You’re not actually going into hiding,” Hank said. First of all the kids to clue in.

“They’re not?” Scott was always a couple of cards short of a full deck. “But then–”

“An’ why would we be runnin’?” Logan asked.

“Well,” Scott said, a little helplessly, “from what Kitty calls our ‘cliff notes’ version of your background, didn’t you get here from Mexico in secret, uh, which I thought, would be, on the run… okay, Wade, you can stop grinning at me now. I already feel like I can’t catch up. If you’re actually going to fight, we, uh, we want to help.”

“Kids don’t have any business getting involved in adult matters,” Fury cut in, with all his parental nurturing glory. “S.H.I.E.L.D. will be getting involved.”

“I don’t reckon I could get Disneyland to close early by myself otherwise, could I?” Wade smirked. “Just so you know, you don’t go after Cable, and you leave the orange kitty to Logan.”

“Cable remains a threat, possibly a biological one,” Fury retorted, unimpressed. 

“I look forward to saying ‘I told you so’ to your eyepatch in the future when he kicks your ass.”

#

It occurred a little later to Fury that Wade Wilson was a slippery, cunning little devil who chose his battles and his battlegrounds very seriously. Fury walked through a darkened and silenced Disneyland, the bulbous shapes of cartoon animals and the far-off twisted spines of roller coasters barely visible in the night.

Logan he owed, owed enough to leave the man to his devices. Besides, it wasn’t like Fury didn’t know the mutant kids were more than likely to take a joyride over here once the Professor went to bed or something. Short of drowning the Wolverine in the Indiana Jones ride, Fury didn’t really see any way for Sabertooth to kill him. And all that violence looked cathartic.

Wilson had taken advantage of said violence and the snarling and testosterone to slip away into the dark, drawing Cable after him. This left Fury and a handful of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents trying to triangulate Cable’s position in a sprawling darkness full of weird buildings, weirder structures, and the occasional blatting music. All this made Fury really, really wonder what was wrong with this generation’s kids. How the hell was _this_ their dream vacation?

Fury had endured Wilson’s presence for long enough after his escape from the Weapon X facility to have a handle of sorts on how Wilson’s mind worked. The man adored humor and irony in equal measure. Which meant that more likely than not, Wilson was somewhere in the Tomorrowland area. With its tacky ‘spaceships’ and ‘futuristic’ buildings and rides. 

And, with Wilson’s preference for destructive pranks in mind… yes. There. Space Mountain’s carefully locked exit had been tampered with. The heavy doors were twisted and thrown to the side. Fury considered calling backup, sighed, and stepped cautiously into the giant darkened structure, his rifle held close. 

He didn’t have to go far. Several stacked up signs and a counter allowed a place to hide.

Wilson and Cable were standing far down the corridor, where the ride usually loaded up. They were just talking. This would’ve appeared odd for any scenario involving Cable that also didn’t at the same time include Wilson. Cable was hooded and clothed heavily, but the glow from his left eye was sharp in the deep gloom. 

Fury adjusted the comm-tech in his ear, triangulating further to pick up the words. 

“… so we’re not going to fight?” Wilson sounded disappointed. “I just psyched myself up to fight. Would we fight if I sang something from Rambo?”

“As tempting as it might be, no.” Cable’s voice was a deep, scratchy rumble, flat as a machine’s. “You try to provoke battles only when you wish to avoid discussions.”

“I’m getting un-psyched here. I went to all this effort to set up Disneyland for a final boss battle, and you don’t want to fight.” Wilson was whining like a damned brat, but Fury knew that for what it really was. He’d seen Wilson’s tactics firsthand sparring in S.H.I.E.L.D. one day when Wilson’s mouth and itchy fingers with regards to high-tech weaponry had gone too far. Wilson did his best to piss you off. And if you were pissed off, you fought worse. If you concentrated on not getting pissed off, you still fought worse. 

Cable, despite all reports, was impossibly patient. “I don’t want to fight you.”

“You killed Stryker.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“… True,” Wilson said, sounding hesitant, a rare moment for someone like the mouthy Weapon X escapee. “So, uh, well, the hotdog stands are closed, I don’t think I’ll be up to collecting Logan for a while, uh, the weather is nice, isn’t it.”

“You tried to kill me before you left.” 

From the tonal change in Wilson’s voice, Fury could tell this was the topic Wilson had really been trying to avoid. “Um, yes.”

“Why?” Cable’s tone was still flat. No accusation, no hurt, no anger. 

“The virus was taking over. You were on the third level. I had to go through two floors to get to you. Everyone they’d shot your Future AIDS into was in berserk metal zombie mode. Which, okay, was kinda cool. If the building wasn’t set to blow and if Logan didn’t weigh a fucking shit-ton even when unconscious and strapped to a trolley. When I saw you… you didn’t recognize me.”

“I did.”

“Yeah well. I thought you didn’t, what with all the screaming and thrashing. The metal was all over your _face_ , Nate. I came to get you but you looked worse than all the others I put down to get up to you and I figured… hell. At the least, I’d put you out of your misery,” Wilson said bitterly. “Maybe I should have used the entire clip, huh.”

“Did you wish so?”

“Aren’t you about to kill me?”

“I said I didn’t want to fight you.”

“So you came all the way here to talk?” Wilson asked, incredulous. “What, can’t you call international from Norway?”

“I wanted to ask you about what you did. Face to face. Whether you would do it again. Whether you regretted it.”

“Hah, like I buy that. Whatever Stryker put into you to mutate your techno-organic whatever killed off your ability to have emotions even as it enhanced your ability to use it as a weapon. I don’t think you care why… I don’t think you even _care_ about anything anymore. Building full of experiments and I think I’m the only one who came out not a sociopath. On my better days.”

“I’m trying,” Cable said. Wilson exhaled, skittish, as though in surprise or in distress. Fury wished he could get visual. 

“Heard you’re a merc now,” Wilson muttered, his voice a little muffled. “What’s that all about?”

“I pay bills. Unlike you.”

“Ouch.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Cable said. There was a pause. “Wade, did you regret it?”

Heavy breaths from Wilson, then a whispered, “Always.” 

Wet sounds. They were _kissing_. Fury froze, utterly and truly surprised for one of the few times in his life. Wryly, he turned off the comm and left as silently as he was able. Maybe he’d even be in time to stop Logan from causing too much inexplicable property destruction.

#

Wilson looked disgustingly happy as he sauntered up to them to greet the kids. Logan scented fear from some of them as Wilson’s companion walked up into view, silent and evidently disinterested. The metal on Cable’s skin was seething, worms writhing under foil. Cable caught some of the kids staring, sneered, and pulled his hood more firmly over his face. No aggressiveness at all. Logan sniffed the air.

Wilson’s—and Cable’s—clothes were perfectly in order, and there had even been soap involved. There was still a little something that explained why Wilson was so goddamned happy and Cable looked so goddamned placid. 

“You look like hell,” Wilson had the balls to say, clapping Logan on the shoulder.

“Not everyone fights their battles by getting laid,” Logan retorted. Some of the kids gasped.

“You’re just jealous,” Wilson said.

“Hardly.”

“What happened to Garfield?”

“Dead.”

“Oh, good,” Wilson said. His eyes narrowed. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Logan said. “Thanks.” He knew why Wilson had chosen this spot. Logan wouldn’t have thought about it himself. Didn’t want to think about what could have happened if he’d had to face Sabertooth anywhere else. Logan hadn’t needed the monster to win. He didn’t _need_ the monster.

“So–” Wilson began, but Logan cut him off. 

“Reckon I’ll be fine from now, bub.”

“Hey, I liked the free food as much as you did.” Wilson glanced back behind him, hesitated a moment. “If the Professor allows pets. My new puppy’s pretty big.” He nodded at Cable, who sniffed.

 _I would be happy to welcome any additional students._ The Professor’s voice sounded faint within their heads. Cable frowned. _Nathan Summers. Greetings._

“Summers? That’s a coincidence. My surname is also Summers,” Scott said. He looked cheerful now that there was no violence to be had on hand. Noticing Wilson and Logan staring at him, Scott asked, “What?”

“This, uhh, could be awkward to explain,” Wilson said brightly, “but tell you what. It’s gonna be my pleasure. I might even draw diagrams.” 

Cable sighed.


	5. Winning and Losing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Wade and Cable meet during Weapon X. Wolverine Movieverse.

James ‘Logan’ Howlett wasn’t sure what to make of their new ‘team leader’. 

The glowing eye and the inch of metal he could catch over the starched and pressed uniform on the left side of the man’s neck was fucking weird. Burly, tall, silver-haired man. Loose, combat-ready stance spoke of battle experience. A no-fucking-nonsense kinda natural sergeant. Nathan Dayspring Summers smelled wrong. Half human, half metal. The foreign scent of organic metal played hob with Logan’s nose. The large rifle Nathan was holding also smelled wrong. Didn’t carry any hint of acrid gunpowder or explosive. 

He could tell Victor didn’t like the new guy either. Didn’t like the scent, didn’t like the sergeant attitude. The rest of the team looked indifferent, though Wilson’s silence during Stryker’s short introduction was unusual. Actually, nothing short of miraculous. 

Logan was trying to figure out what was up with Wilson when Victor started to run his mouth. “Just joined the team and leader already?”

“Sergeant Summers is well qualified and comes with a glowing recommendation,” Stryker said. He looked irritated at the interruption. “Also, our team as it is now is short a telepath.”

“A ‘reader as well? Could be fun. I love ‘readers,” Victor purred.

“Victor,” Logan said sharply, before his brother could elaborate that he loved mind readers because they could see what he was about to do to them before he mutilated their bodies. Logan had heard the line before a couple of times when they were hunting ‘readers. Victor never bothered to change his talk when it worked enough to scare the hell out of a potential victim.

Summers appeared unimpressed. His voice was deep. “Good. Perhaps we can work as a team rather than a pack of mere killers. Tomorrow we’ll begin with tactical exercises. Focus on teamwork rather than individual showhorsing.”

Victor sneered. “You can take your ‘tactical exercises’ and shove it up your–”

“ _Victor,_ ” Stryker snapped. Victor hissed. “The Weapon X team requires discipline. None of you are qualified to lead. I can’t attend missions all the time due to my work. Out of necessity, we had to locate a military-trained mutant with the capability to defeat all of you at once, were such a situation to arise. Since the lot of you only respect brute strength.”

“Yeah?” Victor could go from standing still to crouched and pouncing all in one fluid motion. In mid-air, he abruptly froze. “The fuck?”

“Telekinesis and telepathy,” Stryker said. Victor was thrown back heavily against the concrete wall of the Weapon X hangar. “A rare combination when in equal strength and, in Summers’ case, with no apparent weight limit.”

“Hrr.” Logan crouched, ready to attack. Victor merely laughed wetly, the sound of his bones knitting audible only to Logan’s ears. 

“Shouldn’t we be testing this ‘against all of us’ theory of yours, Stryker?” Victor drawled.

“If you like.” Stryker nodded faintly at Summers, then walked away to stand in a corner of the hangar.

“Bradley, turn off that gun,” Victor growled, picking himself up slowly. Bradley blinked, looking uncertain. The pale lights along the muzzle of the strange rifle switched off. Summers still looked unimpressed. 

About six minutes later, most of the team were picking themselves off the concrete ground and/or wall in varying stages of disrepair. Summers stood exactly where he had been, still unimpressed. The only two left standing were Bradley, whose eyes were so wide the whites showed, and Wilson, who was grinning his shit-eating grin. Still so fucking quiet, his arms crossed and his blades sheathed behind his back.

“What’s wrong, Wilson?” Victor snarled, uncurling slowly from the ground. “You turnin’ into a coward like Bradley?”

“I don’t have a problem with Summers as a team leader,” Wilson said cheerfully, “and I don’t see the point of getting an ass-kicking just to prove it. Some of us Canadians don’t have healing factors, you know! If Stryker says he’s stronger than all of us combined, then I’ll take his word for it that he’s stronger. Ain’t that so, o Great Paycheck Writer?”

“I’ll give you a month’s advance if you try,” Stryker said flatly from his corner. 

“Really?”

“Just to have the satisfaction of having you shut up for the next mission because your jaw is broken,” Stryker told him.

“Aw, shucks, I didn’t know you cared.” Wilson limbered up, loosening his limbs. “I only have to try, right?”

“Try believably.” 

This had to be good to watch. Logan forced himself up onto his elbows, as Wilson’s wrist flicked. Some sort of metal device arced out, only to come to a complete stop in Summer’s telekinetic shield. There was a beep, a click, then the shield fell. Summers blinked in surprise and stepped back, choking and clutching at his head. One step, two, and the big man was already beginning to recover. Wilson was fast though, even for a human. The tip of his katana came to a stop an inch before Summer’s neck.

“Do I get an additional advance for field testing equipment from the labs?” Wilson asked Stryker, who had actually looked surprised.

“The prototype psychic feedback suppressor. I did hear an hour ago that it was missing from the daily inventory. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you were the thief.” Stryker narrowed his eyes, striding forward to angrily snatch the device off the ground. “You were prepared?”

“Yup. I can also build a decent campfire, a tent, and whatever boy scouts do.” Wilson’s grin was sharp as he sheathed his blade. “Saw you taking the Sergeant here around the base. Figured you wouldn’t be so nice to a total newbie. Figured also that he’ll be joining our team of Happy Tree Friends. So I thought I might as well.”

“Nobody asked you for your deductions, Wilson,” Stryker said, now in a poor mood. “Why didn’t you fight with the others?”

“Hey, I did say I didn’t have a problem with Summers.” Again, that goddamned shit-eating grin. “Also, I get the advance for real, right?”

Stryker’s malevolent glare would have made even Victor give pause. Wilson stared him down. Stryker sniffed and turned around, heading for the exit. “Get acquainted with your team, Summers. Briefing at thirteen hundred hours.”

“Yes, sir,” Summers said.

“No praise? No ‘Good job’? No ‘You’ll regret this later’?” Wilson turned to his next target, who merely smiled faintly.

“You require positive affirmation?”

“… yes?”

“Well done, soldier,” Summers said dryly. There was the faintest thread of respect in there that Logan could have sworn he hadn’t heard when Summers had been addressing Stryker. 

“Thank you sir,” Wilson said. Strange. There was no hint of mockery at all in Wilson’s tone, his eyes narrowed and dark. Then Wilson twisted around to grin cheekily at Victor, who was growling as he got back on his feet. “Hey, hey, don’t be a sourpuss. You like pain, I know it.” 

“I’ll get you someday, Wilson,” Victor spat. He didn’t leave like Logan expected, circling warily around Summers instead to move to his brother’s side. Wraith appeared beside Bradley. Dukes had already wandered over. Agent Zero was limping up, favoring his side. “So, what are these ‘training’ exercises? We get t’do yoga?”

“If you like,” Summers said, without even cracking a smile. Logan smirked even as his brother scowled. Alien scent and all, he could get to like having a pack leader.


	6. A Firm Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to Winning and Losing. Wolverine Movieverse. 
> 
> **CONTENT WARNING** : Contains Victor x Logan. This was also written before I got into XMFC, so Erik's description follows the comics.

It took six missions and eight months of intensive 'tactical exercises' for Victor to grudgingly accept Cable as the pack leader. He still gave the man lip, and didn't always obey orders. At least he now listened, and, rather to Logan's surprise, had stopped trying to kill Cable about three months ago. 

Victor didn't even smell aggressive around Cable any longer. His growing taste for violence and death had stabilized under Cable's iron discipline. For that, Logan owed the big telepath some. Logan’s persistent fear over the decades had been of losing Victor to the animal within his brother.

Curled against his back, Victor grunted and shifted. He was a warm, solid mass of muscle bundled up in a parka. Bunkering down in the ass end of Siberia meant that they were traveling light. Also meant that they were all freezing their tails off within the crumbling buildings of an old abandoned town with one generator and two portable heaters to share.

The most intact building with a good view of the main street used to be a grocer. With the doors barred against the blizzard and the windows already blocked up with debris, the cold was a couple of degrees above unbearable. Coils from the generator led up a small hole in the ceiling courtesy of Logan’s claws, to a second heater up above for the lookout. 

Currently it was Cable and Wilson’s shift. Maybe because Wilson had once managed to defeat Cable single-handedly, he was the only person in the team who questioned Cable all the time. Sometimes just for the hell of it. Sometimes in the middle of a goddamn _mission_. If Logan was Cable, Wilson would long have been telepathically lobotomized–

A claw poked him through his parka, the point against his ribs making him flinch. Logan bared his teeth into a low, soft growl. Felt Victor shake against his spine in quiet amusement. 

“You’re thinkin’ too loud, little brother,” Victor murmured. Under the roar of the storm, only Logan’s ears would have picked it up. 

“Can’t sleep.”

“Yeah? Don’t be sharin’ now.” The claw pressed a little harder against his skin before it withdrew. “I like sleepin’.”

“Cats do sixteen hours, I hear.” Logan curled against the wall, his brother slumping more comfortably against his back.

“Fuck you.” Victor’s voice was indistinct against the fur ruff of Logan’s parka. “First it’s all the noise upstairs, then it’s you, goddamn it, got t’rise at fuckin’ five in the fuckin’ mornin’ tomorrow an’–”

“What noise upstairs?”

“Can’t hear it?” Victor’s smirk was in his tone, curved against Logan’s parka. His brother had slightly sharper senses than he did. Maybe because Victor was just a couple more degrees beast than Logan was. “Concentrate.”

Logan frowned, squeezing his eyes shut. He filtered out the snores of his teammates, Fred’s trucker blubbing, Wraith’s chuff, Bradley’s intermittent wheezing. Zero wasn’t fielded for this mission. Filtered out Victor’s heartbeat, the warm huff of his breath against Logan’s ear. The roar of the blizzard and the whirr of the generator. Above there was a scratching, insistent sound. Hushed voices, too soft to pick out the words. 

“What are they sayin’?” Logan asked.

Victor yawned, clearly disinterested. “Wilson’s dickin’ on ‘bout the mission, ‘bout Siberia, ‘bout his ass freezin’ off, been jawin’ like an old lady for an hour. Money on Cable snappin’.”

“You’re on.” Cable’s patience was phenomenal. 

“Heh.”

“What?”

“You should listen a little more t’your nose,” Victor said cryptically. He chuckled at a faint sound of a yelp from upstairs. Something was said, the tone indignant. There was a second yelp, this one louder. A muffled thump. “Heh.”

“Victor.”

“You ever walk close enough t’them when they’ve been talkin’?”

“Nope."

“Could be you’d notice how they both smell like bitches in season whenever they’re t’gether.” Victor sounded smug.

“You’re fuckin’ me.” Logan turned to regard his brother, ignoring Victor’s bared-teeth grin of irritation at the warmth shifting. “Cable and _Wilson_?”

Victor stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head slowly. He snorted when Logan punched him in the flank. Victor’s eyes were sharp, querying. “You think any different now?”

Logan understood. Victor was keeping to the current structure of the outfit because with Cable’s arrival as pack leader, Logan had stopped his attempts to persuade Victor to leave Weapon X. Cable kept the missions professional. No civilian casualties. Logan preferred it that way, could respect the man for that if nothing else. What Cable chose to do in his personal time was of no real interest to Logan.

“Nope.”

“Good. I like this gig,” Victor said. 

Upstairs, the muffled thumping sounds was rhythmic now. Logan frowned. “What could they be doin’?”

Victor shrugged. “Sounds like Wilson’s bein’ spanked. If you can pick out the sounds he’s makin’, he likes it.”

Logan’s brain broke quietly.

“An’ then,” Victor said, not noticing, “’bout when he starts t’beg, they usually fuck.”

“… I’m gonna sleep.”

“Sometimes they do the throwdown, but usually, I think Wilson rides.”

“Victor!”

Logan felt his brother shake silently against him again. “Sure you don’t want t’hear? Wilson screams like a girl. Can’t believe you haven’t heard them before.” Victor wasn’t going to let him forget this, Logan sensed sourly. “He’s got the prettiest face in this bunch. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought ‘bout it.”

True. But still. Fucking _Wilson?_ “He talks too much,” Logan said.

“You’re right there,” Victor conceded.

#

Next morning, Logan tried not to stare too obviously at how Wilson was limping. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t really noticed before, after any previous… sessions. Wilson’s constant jabbering _did_ make it difficult to concentrate on anything other than a pleasant impulse to punch in the mercenary’s teeth. Right now Wilson was being quiet, since stealth was required. The effort of being silent was probably going to cause Wilson to explode.

 _You seem concerned._ Cable’s mental voice was always benign and unobtrusive. _Are you well?_

It was a good thing telepaths didn’t seem to be able to pick out anything more than surface thoughts from him and Victor. Logan pushed his irritation at the fact that they were currently knee-deep in snow to the forefront of his mind and kept it at that. _Yeah, I’m good._

 _If you have concerns about my chosen strategy, please inform me,_ Cable returned. 

_Nothing about that. Strat’s fine,_ Logan replied quickly. Victor cocked his head at Logan as Cable’s mental touch withdrew.

They were plowing through the snow towards a supposedly disused coal mine through the snow. Victor looked unhappy, spoiling for a fight. Deep snow was never really his brother’s favourite. Just over eight months ago, Victor would’ve bounded ahead by now. He’d have wanted to end things quick so they could return to the warmth of relative civilization. Or he would’ve refused outright to come. Funny how the world turned.

Once within the coal mine, Wilson rocked back on his heels. “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious! Good fucking _god_ that was torture. I don’t ever want to shut up for that long again. My brain shuts down, you know, it shuts all the way down and I’ll become a zombie and you’ll all regret it.”

“Wade.” Cable sighed.

“Yes, Gracious and Majestic and All-knowing Sergeant?”

“You just triggered the alarm.” 

“Great!”

Wraith rolled his eyes. Fred automatically walked to the front of the group, Cable dropping back to the rear. Eight months of training and all this teamwork still felt slightly out of place. Logan’s claws were out. He took up the right flank, Victor to the left. Wilson was grinning, pistols in hand. Bouncing on his feet as they advanced down the tunnel, their only light the pale blue of Cable’s telekinetic shield.

“Since we’ve already triggered the alarm, I can keep talking, right?” Wilson asked.

There was a soft, low growl from Victor instead of the snort that Logan had been expecting. Glad for the relative darkness, Logan smirked. Decades of being outsiders had made them feral. As much as Victor would never admit it, he liked being part of a pack. There was no real other reason why he would stay by Logan’s side, after all. Before Logan had killed his true father, they had always been less than friends. Even now, they still brawled.

A pack of two was not a pack, especially with no clear leader. Now Cable was the leader. In a pack, constant insubordination with no apparent positional challenge was irritating.

“Aww, kitty want to be fed? Want litter tray? Want cuddly toys?” Wilson’s grin was sharp. As Victor turned to regard him with an equally sharp, if toothier grin of his own, Logan smelled fear spike in Bradley, wariness in Wraith. “Need a perm? Brush your teeth? Trim your nails? Do kitties get manicures? I bet they do. There’s all these specialized pet salon things coming up like daisies.”

“Wilson, shut up,” Logan muttered. The tunnel was due to split into an intersection soon from the map he vaguely remembered. A room that was a killing room, with an aisle up top where soldiers could fire upon them. Maybe a small turret installed. Not particularly a problem.

Two more rooms like that and they would reach the containment labs. And whatever Siberia was brewing that had Stryker so concerned. 

“No, puppy, I don’t want to,” Wilson said with suicidal cheer, sandwiched between two feral killers in a low-ceilinged tunnel. “Ever think about the meaning of life? Like kitten parlors and puppy showers and why we’re here when Nate could take this place by himself with his eyes closed?” The cheer leached out of Wilson’s tone. 

Victor snorted. “Who cares?”

“Doesn’t it seem weird to any of you?” Wilson gestured behind him with the muzzle of his gun. “Mister ‘Don’t kill civilians’ is totally the ‘Pick the Odd One Out’ of this picture here. He’s stronger than the lot of us combined. He’s not into this black ops thing. All his gear is definitely wayyyy beyond prototype or any sort of current tech. Did you know he has steel balls–”

“Your point bein’?” Wraith cut in sharply. Further surprise. Wraith hardly ever got involved with disputes in their group unless it involved Fred, with whom the teleporter shared a vague sort of friendship. 

“What is he here for? How long is he here?” The permanent sugar adrenaline scent to Wade was picking up sharp on anger. Victor was narrowing his eyes, as though working out whether or not to pounce. 

“We all got our reasons for bein’ here,” Victor growled, sniffing at the air. “I don’t give a fuck about yours. You got somethin’ t’take up with Cable, take it up with him later, when we’re not in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere freezin’ off our fuckin’ arses.”

“Longest speech I’ve ever heard from you, kitty,” Wilson said, perhaps as taken aback as Logan himself. “What happened to pounce first, purr later?”

“Don’t go thinkin’ I’m not tempted,” Victor said, with an ugly smile. “You don’t like the outfit? Quit.” 

Wilson bared his teeth.

Behind him, Cable said, untroubled, “Get ready.”

#

The mission was easy, even if the enemies had been prepared for them. Murder rooms neutralized, Logan followed Fred into the containment room. He was distracted by the enclosed stench of blood, death, and his brother’s bloodlust.

Inside the brightly lit room, Logan coughed and staggered back. The opening doors let out a noxious wave of formaldehyde, disinfectant, and rotting tissue. 

Cable glanced at him. “Logan, Victor, keep watch. Fred, Bradley, Wilson, sweep search. Wraith, ‘port back to the barracks, take all the cold weather gear you can find.”

“And what’cha doin’, sweetcheeks?” Wilson asked. He smelled tense, looking around the chamber with clear disgust. 

“Freeing whoever is still alive.” Cable said coolly. 

The chamber was lined with large glass tubes. It was colder than the killing rooms outside, temp turned up. Effectively a huge refrigerator. Under several strips of fluorescent tubes, were three operating tables. They’d been scrubbed down, two empty, one with four days’ old meat, cut open to show part-dried, part-rotted inner organs in all their interesting shades. A set of scalpels, drills and other medical instruments sat neatly on one of the empty tables. At the far end was a large cabinet of drugs, bottled fluids, pills. Next to it was a filing cabinet of reports. 

In the tubes were people. Shaved, silent, floating in some sort of fluid. Men and women, some horrifically deformed, flesh waxy and melting. Some visibly normal. Some with distended teeth and horns, scales, fur and feather. 

“Just like home,” Wilson said sarcastically, tapping fingers against one of the tubes. He arched an eyebrow when Bradley blinked at him. “What? You never broke into the fifth level of Weapon X before?” 

“They do this down there?” Logan asked, incredulous, ignoring Victor’s sudden grip on his elbow.

“Something like it, I think. Last I was there, there weren’t a lot of tube babies. ‘Course, it’s hard to look around when you’re up a vent shaft,” Wilson said with his usual annoying cheer, looking between Victor and Logan. “What’s the matter, puppy? You thought we were the good guys all along? Never thought about what the big guns do with all the people we pick up for them?” A thumb jerked towards Cable. “He knows. Funny thing, innit? He knows all along, so why is he still here?” 

“Cable,” Fred called, into the uncomfortable silence, wrenching open one of the lockers next to the file cabinet. Uniforms spilled out, haphazardly folded. Very familiar uniforms. “United States Army.”

Cable closed his eyes, pressed his palms against the first tube. Within it was a woman, her lidded eyes distended, her hands lengthened to sticks. There was a moment of silence, then the back of her skull caved into fragments of brain, bone and tissue, floating into the viscous fluids. The woman slumped forward. On the monitor beside her, the leaping yellow line scaled flat. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Wilson had his gun pressed up against Cable’s skull, his eyes narrowed.

“My job,” Cable replied, even as the rest of the team eyed themselves warily.

“The hell it is. Our ‘job’ is to get all these stiffs up to pick-up. We aren’t being paid for anything else.”

“Transportation accidents,” Cable replied mildly. Under his palms, the man in the second tube shuddered, then slumped.

“You’re not Weapon X at all, are you,” Wilson’s finger curled over the trigger. Victor tensed. “What are you here for?” 

“A clean-up,” Cable turned to look at Wilson, then at the others. “Most of these men and women won’t remember what they were. Half of them will die when exposed to normal air. Stryker wants to study this tech. Study and mimic it then reproduce it on people enrolled in the Weapon X program.”

Fred and Wraith glanced at each other, then at Bradley, who shrugged. Wraith grinned. “Didn’t see nothin’.”

Cable looked at Logan and Victor. His brother straightened, uncurling his fingers. “I’m cold. Finish whatever the fuck you want, let’s go home.” 

“Logan?” 

Wilson was staring at him, his dark eyes unreadable, almost pleading. Logan wavered, between his brother and Logan’s own humanity. What was left of it. “They’re all still people. Killing them like this ain’t right, bub.”

Victor sighed, loud and deep. Cable frowned. Wilson skipped over to the file cabinet, yanking out a set of files and a list. He flicked through it. “You just killed one Alison Rayne and one James Matthew Samuelson, boss. The next one you’re gonna pop, Michaela Stevens. Nicholas Joseph Fury. John Dobson… hey!” Telekinesis plucked the chart out of Wilson’s hands. Cable strode down to stare hard at the fourth tube. Within it was a black man, similarly shaved. There were fresh scars down his left eye. 

“Nick Fury?” Cable said, incredulous. “This should not be… he should not be here… the timeline, what have I…” he drew in a deep breath, clenching his hands. 

Wilson stared at Cable in open challenge. “Someone you know? Makes all the difference between hauling ass out and blowing out their brains doesn’t it?” 

Cable looked distracted. “Meet me at the evac. I’ll catch up.”

“Oh no you’re not,” Wilson folded his arms, pistols back in their holsters. “You’re going to elope with the big test tube. Which, frankly, will make me jealous. And when I’m jealous, I do bad things with arsenic and gunpowder.”

Cable stared at him, shutting the rest of them out of the conversation as he spoke to Wilson mind-to-mind. Wilson blanched and held up his gloved hands. “Nuh-uh. You can’t ask that. I actually like this gig. Same as the rest of us.” 

“Then turn around and leave,” Cable said, his tone going flat.

“Not until you’ve told me why you’re going, damnit!”

“You won’t believe me,” Cable said sadly. 

The roof sloughed in above them, dumping concrete, dirt and snow down in a billowing roar of the wind and the scream of metal. Victor and Logan hastily backed down the corridor, the blizzard of snow obscuring their sight. Wraith appeared beside them, Fred in hand. He teleported again, reappearing moments later with Wilson, then Bradley.

“Goddamn coward,” Wilson muttered, glaring up at the sky. 

“Good fuckin’ job,” Victor growled. He glared at Logan when Logan caught his shoulder. “S’matter, Jimmy? Let me kick Wilson around for a minute.”

“Bradley, where’s he headin’?” Logan asked instead. “You can pick up his rifle’s signature.”

“South,” Bradley said timidly. “Uh. What are we doing now?”

“Victor and I are goin’ after him, obviously.” Logan glanced at his brother, who stared at him for a moment before grinning and flexing his fingers. “Rest of you can stay here for evac.” 

“What are you both gonna do, kill him?” Wilson asked.

“Yeah? That never takes.” Victor said. He hunched against the cold and used the cave in of snow and metal to climb upwards and out. The pack was on the move.

Logan sniffed. Wilson’s anger and pain was a rich cocktail against the oil of Wilson’s swords and gunpowder. He jerked his head up towards the gap. “Wilson, if you wanna come, you better keep up and shut up, bub. Bradley, move your ass.”

“But—” Bradley began.

“Don’t make me fucking come back down and get you,” Victor growled.

#

Five miles trekking through a lessening blizzard and they finally hit an airfield. Cable was long gone, the hangar door torn off its hinges. Snow was sloughing onto the concrete. Streaks led out to the runway, faint now under the snow. A plane had been stolen. At this point, Logan would normally have given pursuit up as a bad job, but Bradley said he could still sense the rifle’s unique electronic signature, now heading east. Back to the US of A.

Bradley was probably regretting his comment about his electronic tracking prowess. He was shivering and limp, his shoulder clamped tight under Victor’s grip. “Anyone can fly a plane?” Logan asked as they approached the hangar. “Bradley?”

“I can switch it on, but I can’t fly one,” Bradley said, moaning softly under his breath in fear as Victor shook him roughly. “Guys, c’mon, just let me-”

“I leave you alone here, can you trek back to evac on your own with a disemboweled stomach?” Wilson said cheerfully, rapping gloved knuckles against a small plane. “You know how kitty gets when his toys turn useless, right? And I can fly this one.”

“Y’sure?” Logan asked dubiously. Victor was already shaking Bradley before the door. The door unlocked itself and the systems switched on. Satisfied, Victor tossed his captive into the plane and scrambled in after him.

“C’mon, Jimmy.” Victor’s grin was toothy and unpleasant, all too conscious of his brother’s dislike of flying. “You wanna puke, remember t’do it on Bradley.”

“Hah, hah.” Logan climbed in after Wilson, who trotted over to the controls and settled in at the pilot’s seat.

“Enough fuel, many little switches, little buttons, what a cute plane… erk!” Wilson choked as Logan curled fingers around his neck from behind. 

“Can you fly or not?”

“Sure… I can… have license… will travel…” Wilson breathed noisily as Victor shut the door to the plane and buckled in. It was a six-seater passenger plane that looked as though it should have been retired to a museum some time ago. Its hull creaked dangerously as Logan settled into a seat. 

“Can you sense that rifle anywhere in the States?” Victor asked Bradley as the plane pulled out slowly into the runway.

“N-nope. But if we start flying now,” Bradley said hastily, “and keep flying east, I can still track it faintly. Don’t kill me.”

“Why, I wasn’t even thinking about it,” Victor said pleasantly, retracting his claws. 

“Pants on fire,” Wilson called from the cockpit. The plane began to pick up speed. “I’ve flown this sort of plane once before, isn’t it fun? I was going over the grand canyon and I was about twelve and I don’t think I landed properly but then I was alive so that’s what counts and I bought the license off an old geezer for a bottle of beer and besides—” Wilson took a deep breath, “–the two of you have healing factors anyway! And you don’t care about Bradley. I don’t care about Bradley. So we’re cool!” 

At Logan’s growl, Wilson twisted around with an evil grin. “Just thought you would like some sort of full disclosure.” 

“I’m gonna kill you,” Logan promised him.

#

“Everything happens in Manhattan,” Wilson complained. “Seriously. Someday I’ll like to see some serious whoop ass go down in Vermont or Maine or something.”

According to Bradley, the rifle’s signature was stationary now within a building in Manhattan. They’d miraculously managed to land on the Long Island Expressway in the middle of the night without hitting any cars. They’d ditched the plane, hijacked a car, and now Bradley was driving towards the signature.

Victor snorted. He was in the back seat with Logan, with Wilson and Bradley in front. Victor was dozing off curled against Logan, his breathing slowing down. Logan picked up one of Victor’s broad hands, turning it over to inspect the yellowed claws. He pressed the pad of his right thumb to the base of the forefinger claw. Against him, Victor murmured sleepily and began to purr in rumbling bass. 

Logan looked up to Wilson’s fascinated stare. “Does he let you rub his tummy too?” Wilson asked.

“Sometimes,” Logan said. He smirked and pressed his thumb to the base of another claw. “They’re sensitive,” Logan explained when Wilson continued to stare. “What?” Logan asked as the silence stretched.

“Nothing. It’s cute, in a psychopathic way. Why exactly are the two of you so interested in finding Nate, anyway?”

“He’s pack,” Victor said sleepily, shifting up more firmly against his brother. “An’ Jimmy woul’ quit.” Victor batted feebly at hands that settled him in Logan’s lap. He curled into a fetal position, palms splayed. The plane ride had been turbulent, noisy and harrowing. Victor needed far more sleep than a normal person. 

“Translate that please,” Wilson said.

“Victor likes the Weapon X program. If Cable wasn’t there, I’d have quit. Happy?” Logan asked.

“You’ve both effectively quit by haring all the way here. Can you even write resignation letters? Can you even write because I mean, I’ve never seen either of you write, and Victor’s claws probably shred pens.”

“Could be.” Logan stroked the base of another claw. “Could be we’re too valuable. Could be that Cable belongs to a better outfit. We’ve both lived long enough t’know that you never should stop lookin’ for the next best thing.” 

This satisfied Wilson. The mercenary looked away as Bradley drove. Around them, the city was still bright and noisy even in the dead of night. “I’m hungry. Are you guys hungry? I hope wherever Nate hightailed it off to has free food. Or food anyway. With us around it’d probably end up free.” 

“Jimmy, make ‘im shut up,” Victor muttered from Logan’s lap.

#

The elevator opened to the top level of the Baxter building with Bradley’s help. It was a high ceilinged and impossibly cluttered laboratory with a giant telescope set in the center. In the centre was Cable, arms crossed, rifle strapped to his back. Behind him was a pretty lady in a plain blouse and skirt. Beside her was a giant, rocky monster thing, then another man, shirtless and in sweatpants.

“This is some party,” Wilson said, staring at the giant. “And I think I even recognize it. D’you guys know there are contracts out on your heads in mercenary circles? Biiiiig contracts. If I wasn’t in this nice, paying gig I would’ve thought of taking them up. Those sorts of contracts.”

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose as the aggression scent in the room hiked up a notch. Cable spoke up. “Why did you follow me?”

Logan had thought of several fairly decent answers that now sounded ridiculous rehashed in his mind. Victor pushed past, heading for the couch next to the telescope. “Because you’re still leader,” he growled at Cable in passing, “and ‘m too sleepy for this shit.” 

“He needs at least twelve hours,” Logan explained into the awkward silence. Victor curled up and pulled a pillow over his head. Logan felt Cable’s touch on his mind and allowed it, staring hard at the other man to make sure he knew the liberty he was taking. Finally, Cable withdrew, inclining his head. 

“Logan and Victor are with me. Miss Storm, please introduce Bradley, that’s the man beside Logan, to Mister Richards. I am sure he will find Bradley’s abilities very curious. Wade, can I speak to you privately for a moment?”

As the woman led Bradley away, Wilson folded his arms tightly over his chest. Parkas and cold weather gear had long been shed in the stolen car. Wilson knew he looked good with his vest and bared arms. Logan caught the scents of mutual interest from both men and kept his face expressionless. He loped over to join his brother on the couch.

“You have something to say, say it in front of everyone. The kitty and the puppy might follow you anyway, but everyone else deserves to hear your fucked up motives,” Wilson said.

Cable stared hard at him. “I’m from the future, Wade.” 

“We’ve heard it,” the giant interjected, in a rumble. “I believe him.”

“What, that he’s from the future and he’s come back to fix up the past? You seriously believe it?” Wilson turned on the giant, eyes narrowed. “He’s clearly pulling our fucking leg.”

“Then what’s your explanation for his rifle?” the man beside the giant asked, the one that smelled of fire.

“Government conspiracy, I don’t know? Half of the gear I can see from over here looks impossible. And I’m pretty sure you guys aren’t from the future.” 

“Point taken,” the shirtless man said, “but Susan and Reed believe him, and that’s good enough for me. Nate, Ben, I’m going back to sleep. Wake me if anything goes down.”

“Sure, Johnny.” Ben, the giant, began to turn away as Johnny loped up towards the stairway. He paused. “You guys want a drink or something?”

“I’m trying to have an emotional outburst here, do you mind?” Wilson snapped. When Ben merely stared evenly at him, Wilson exhaled. “Okay. Um. If it’s not too much trouble, maybe a juice and a sandwich. Haven’t eaten for a day. Those two on the couch probably will eat raw meat, or dog food if you have it. Thanks. So,” he said, as Ben lumbered off, “why did you kidnap the test tube man?”

“Around now there should be a nascent organization being built known as S.H.I.E.L.D. and Fury should be part of it. He should not have been anywhere near the Siberia Project, let alone as part of the team of soldiers that were caught as experiments.” 

“Your point being?”

“When I joined the Weapon X project, it must have changed something drastically. The world needs Nick Fury in S.H.I.E.L.D., or with H.A.M.M.E.R.. I had to bring him here immediately. To the only person I could think of at this point in time who might have the knowledge and the technology to reverse the damage done to his cellular framework.” Cable ran a gloved hand distractedly through his hair. “I have to work out what else I’ve done to the timeline in my attempt to stabilize and assimilate the Weapon X program.” 

“What’s with all these ridiculous abbreviations?” Wilson wondered out aloud, though the aggression scent had faded. “Also, it figures. If you’re not making all this shit up, you better do some Ray Bradbury reading. I never get into relationships with anyone remotely normal and ff…” The rest of Wilson’s words were cut off by a quick kiss. Wilson’s hands circled grudgingly around Cable’s neck, pulling him down for a deeper one.

Vaguely satisfied, Logan curled up and slept.

#

Nick Fury woke up naked, disoriented, hungry and cold. He added ‘pissed off’ to the list. Fury was on what looked like a makeshift hospital bed, an operating table with blankets piled on it for sheets and mattress. An I.V. drip fed off his arm. He was in a circular chamber with a giant computer attached to one side and shelves of folders and odd metallic equipment to another. Coils from large generators on the ground and wall sockets led to a large, empty glass tube to the side of the computer. Fury could smell a riotous volley of chamomile, disinfectant, blood, acidic chemicals, battery fluid, human sweat, metal and paper, a medley of overpowering scents that gave him an instant splitting headache.

Heightened senses. Fury yanked the drip off his arm and grunted heavily as he accidentally rolled off the bed and hit the ground. Reflexes drugged. Mood: increasingly pissed off. Memory: shot to hell. Conclusion: get the fuck out from here. 

Satisfied, Fury pulled himself groggily to his feet, ignoring the sudden squealing from the computer behind him. On a smaller cabinet at the foot of the operating table were his clothes, underwear included. Washed and even pressed. So Fury wasn’t in the tender hands of Mother Russia any longer. 

The warm powdery smell of starch was cloying as Fury put his clothes on. He frowned as he belatedly realized that his vision felt skewed. Pressing a hand up his cheek, his fingertips grazed scars.

The blade, the laughter, the guttural language, Russian commandos and the ambush and cordite. Fury had to take in deep breaths, leaning heavily against the operating table.

When Nick straightened, pulling on his jacket, something small and black fluttered to the ground. An eyepatch. Tying it on felt… right, somehow.

Cautiously, Fury headed out of the room and into a carpeted corridor. More scents. Different people. Something like fireworks. Food, sausages, eggs, bacon, and toast. Metal and earth. To deeper scents, darker and feral. Made him curl his fingers and the corners of his lips.

What was wrong with him?

Scratch that. Nick had been with Weapon X long enough to know what was wrong. Military training swiftly took over the instinctive urge to panic. Fury edged towards the end of the corridor. A walkway circled down another large chamber with a very ordinary looking kitchen occupying a quarter of the space. There was an equally ordinary dining table beside it. 

A giant of a man with yellowish, gritty rock-like skin was giving off the earth-smell. He was laying into a large plate of pancakes. Beside him was a thin, tall man, the one whose scents had been all over the room Nick had woken up in. There was a muscular man helping a woman. He’d smelled of fire. At the other end of the table was a skinny man who smelled of fear, picking at some sausages. Two bulky men wolfing down their food were the sources of the feral scents. There was a lean man in a red vest and two swords at his back talking animatedly with a tall, white-haired man who smelled wrong.

The white-haired man glanced at him. Glowing eye. Huh. Nathan Summers. 

_Breakfast?_ The voice in his mind was urbane. 

_Where am I?_ A glance outward from the windows set into the side of the chamber at the skyline of the surrounding city told him more. Manhattan. That was a relief. Terrorists didn’t set up shop in the center of Manhattan, iron his clothes and offer him breakfast. 

Probably.

Warily, Fury made his way down the stairway. He breathed through his mouth to avoid choking on the strengthening scents. Sat down at the spare seat at the table between the skinny man that smelled of fear and the woman. 

“You’re all part of the Weapon X program,” Fury said. The woman spooned toast, eggs, and sausages onto his plate. “James Howlett, Victor Creed, Chris Bradley, Wade Wilson.”

“Welcome to the fuckin’ family,” Creed said indistinctly, around a mouthful of sausage. Howlett inclined his head. Bradley avoided his eyes. Wilson grinned, his famous mouth thankfully too full to exercise further. 

“Are you feeling better?” The thin, tall man asked earnestly. “My name is Reed Richards. This is Susan, Johnny, and Ben.”

It clicked, then. “The… what are you calling yourselves, the Fantastic Four?”

There was a choked “What, seriously?” from Wilson, and an ugly snicker from Creed. Howlett punched him in the shoulder. 

“Yes, we are,” Richards said, unconcerned. “The molecular reconstruction undertaken in your–”

“Reed, after breakfast, please,” Susan cut in quickly. “Sergeant Fury has just had a harrowing experience.”

“Right, of course. I apologize,” Richards said, looking contrite. “I’ll, uh, debrief you later. Is that what soldiers say?” 

Behind his sister’s back, Johnny rolled his eyes.

#

“The plan,” Cable said, once they were all seated on the couch and chairs around the telescope, “was to build a strong team from the core team. Within Weapon X. Integrate it as a core team into S.H.I.E.L.D. when it solidified under the control of Nick Fury. The reason for doing this,” he added sharply, as Fury opened his mouth to protest, “was that Team X is and will be undoubtedly the best team at what it does. For this time period. Work that the usual superhero teams like the Fantastic Four cannot touch. Necessary work, that could, under Fury’s supervision, prevent great evils.”

“Somethin’ else you ain’t sayin’.” Victor leaned forward from where he was crouched beside Logan. “What would’a happened if Jimmy had left?”

“Weapon X would’ve been destroyed, but not fully. The current team would be murdered. Save for Fred Dukes, Wade Wilson, yourself and Logan. None of you would be on speaking terms. The rest of the program would have gone underground. Become the root of a schism in one of the greatest posthuman teams yet to be created. Further, its research and practices would someday form the core mainframe of an experimental lab of a monster. One who will use it to create an android, a ‘Horseman’, who will destroy a quarter of the world’s population through plagues.” 

Wilson whistled, settling back in his sofa seat. “So you came back to fix the world. Stepped on some butterflies. Fury here ends up in a test tube in Siberia, and according to everyone, S.H.I.E.L.D. never even left the drawing room. What did you fuck up?”

“He was too successful,” Fury said. He looked out of place in his pressed uniform. The man smelled as feral as Logan himself and his brother, Logan had realized instantly when the soldier had seated himself at the breakfast table. Something had been done to him in the ‘tube. 

Something good.

“Too successful?” Richards repeated, looking attentive. As though everything that had been said to date was a mere scientific formula. Susan Storm looked overwhelmed, Ben had glazed eyes. Johnny looked impatient. Obviously, the bendy man was the brains of that outfit. 

“Weapon X had been teetering on the brink of government cuts before Sergeant Summers showed up to take over the reins. Team X was bad publicity. It didn’t believe in stealth, it was occasionally insubordinate, and it was brutal. What was worse politically was that its experiments made its upkeep very expensive. Sergeant Summers changed that. Stryker rose from the brink of demotion into promotion. Plans for another black ops spy organization, your ‘S.H.I.E.L.D.’ was scrapped. Instead, all the nominees for the S.H.I.E.L.D. program were absorbed into Weapon X,” Fury said.

“In the correct timeline,” Cable said, looking pained, “Weapon X was merely part of S.H.I.E.L.D. Now the latter does not exist, and Stryker has risen in power. That was not… my intention.”

“How else did you think shit would pan, sunshine?” Wilson told him. “You made Stryker look good. Obviously, he would’ve been fucking promoted.”

“I planned to create a coordinated team that would follow me into another ‘outfit’ were I to choose to leave,” Cable said. “I was going to give S.H.I.E.L.D. time to form, time to grow stronger, and then leave for it. I wanted to take the rest of you with me, Or at the very least, you, Victor, and Logan.” 

“That’s sweet.” Wilson’s tone dripped sarcasm. “Even though you lumped me with the kitty puppy assholes.” 

Cable looked troubled. “Seeing Nick Fury in that chamber changed things. I need some time to collect my thoughts. Mister Richards has kindly offered us asylum for the time being.”

“Because he really wants to check out your rifle,” Johnny said. He winked at Susan as she glared at him. “What? It’s true.” 

“I’ve rented an additional floor below the loft for the time being. You could use that. It already has facilities and some basic furniture, I think,” Richard said.

“You mean you’re gonna give Collins another excuse to throw us out,” Ben grumbled. He didn’t look displeased. At Wilson’s raised eyebrow, Ben said, “Landlord. He rented this place out to us for the Boy Scout points. Regretted it once it kept getting attacked by crazies.”

“You’re underestimating Stryker if you think he can’t find us, bub,” Logan said.

“I know. But I need time,” Cable said.

“Let him try, Jimmy.” Victor grinned, yellowed claws extended. “I’ve wanted t’kill Zero for a long, long time.”

The Fantastic Four looked rather taken aback. Cable probably hadn’t given them time to read the Team X small print involving indiscriminate carnage. Logan shrugged. If the leader decided to hole up, then they would hole up.

“I have some connections in the military who may be willing to lend you an ear, regarding uh, Shield,” Richards said. “But there must be no killing. In the Baxter building.”

“What about just’a metre outside?” Victor turned his feral stare on Richards, his grin growing toothier. Ben frowned. 

Cable coughed, interjecting. “We will respect your rules. Thank you very much for your help.”

“Thank your rifle… ow!” Johnny glared at his sister this time. “It’s true.” 

“Um,” Bradley spoke up timidly into the awkward silence. “What about me?”

“You’re on loan to Richards, Bradley.” Cable said genially, his eyes slightly narrowed. Logan could guess what he was saying privately. Probably something along the lines of ‘do you really want to be left alone with Logan, Victor and Wade?’. 

Whatever it was, it worked. Bradley swallowed and nodded all too eagerly. “O… okay.” 

“Now that everything’s settled,” Richards said brightly, “Cable, where’s your time machine?”

Johnny groaned.

#

The bloody, snarling, remarkably violent sibling brawl in the reinforced room Richards had set up for their ‘training’ sessions ended in two knitting heaps of flesh lying in a pool of blood and gore. The sharp, coppery scent made Nick’s nose itch and his mouth water. Victor was purring, bloodlust sated for the moment, holding his brother down and lapping absently at the closing cuts sealing over the white bone of Logan’s skull like a big cat. His shirt and pants were shredded and liberally soaked crimson. Logan’s eyes were closed, limp in his brother’s grasp, occasionally scratching at the stubble on his chin.

“Do they get like this often?” Nick asked. Beside him, up against the wall and perched on a cabinet, Wilson was eating an apple. 

“Yup. You get over the ‘ew! Licky badtouch!’ sort of thing when it gets old,” Wilson said brightly, “and then you have to clean up, and it’s sort of like a ‘does this shit really all grow back’ moment, or a ‘does this taste good with onions and garlic’ kind’a thing.”

Wilson was, as far as Nick knew of the Team X program, the only non-enhanced human. That meant he was probably not quite sane. This was proving to be true. Depressingly, Wilson also felt like the _most_ sane member of the team, at least so far as he had met. Take that for a fucked up group. 

“Do you really buy into all that future shit?” Fury asked.

“Nope.” Wilson said, too quickly for Nick to ascertain whether he was lying, “Anyway, who cares?”

“Who cares?” Fury said, incredulous.

“All I’m really interested in is whether you’ll be able to offer us a better gig in the future. Seeing as we’ve blown our current one for the sake of your uncute ass,” Wilson crunched into the apple. His eyes stayed amused. 

“I wouldn’t bet on getting that far,” Nick told him honestly. “Can’t exactly see myself as the head of some sort of super spy agency full of assassins.” 

“Yeah? When I was about thaaat small, I wanted to be a fireman,” Wilson waved his hand vaguely below crossed legs. “Daddy even bought me a firetruck. ‘Course, he stepped on it a couple’a days later when drunk and broke it. Belted me good for putting it out in plain sight. It was the thought that counted. Point being, you’d never know.” Another crunch of the apple. “Ohh gross. Logan, don’t do that. You don’t know where Victor’s been.”

Logan shot Wilson a dirty look but continued to lick at Victor’s knuckles, working up carefully to his claws. They were a pair of human-shaped animals rather than humans, Nick concluded. Victor’s purr rumbled louder and he nuzzled his brother’s spiky hair. Logan wasn’t that far gone yet. When you looked in his eyes he was obviously more human than beast. _Victor_ was over the deep bend and diving into the event horizon. Man even wore clothes as though they were some sort of vague afterthought. 

If the brothers were separated, perhaps Logan could’ve been helped. Maybe brought back to being fully human. As they were now, Victor was probably holding Logan back at about his level. Whatever Cable’s motives were for keeping the two together, Fury wondered if the telepath had thought this one out properly. 

Cable was up at the loft, talking things over with Richards. Apparently, some military brass were going to hold a meeting, including someone who had placed Cable with Weapon X in the first place. Nick wasn’t sure what to make of the entire business still, but all concurring evidence indicated that he had Cable to thank for his life. Nick wasn’t a man who forgot his debts. 

“Anyway, just remember you’re meant to give us a job,” Wilson said.

“Don’t know about that,” Fury said.

“Hah. Well, we’re not in a hurry. You might want to watch your own back when we return to home-sweet-human-experimenting-home.” 

“We’ll be going back?” Logan asked. He sounded distant, relaxed under his brother’s attentions.

“Yeah? Sure we are. You have to learn to read between the Cliff Notes lines, you know.” Wilson waved his apple in Logan’s direction. “When Nate said he was only interested in us, I don’t think he’s _really_ only interested in us. I have a suspicious mind. So sue me.”

“Think you weren’t hugged enough as a kid.”

“Nate has lots of other priorities. We just happen to be one of them. One, but not all, yeah? Besides, I don’t know if you were listening,” Wilson said, as he crunched into the apple again, “but it sure as hell sounded to me like his original plan was to get us out of Weapon X, into S.H.I.E.L.D., and then leave, Job done, hasta la vista, next green fucking green horizon.”

“You’re pissed because you think he’ll leave?” Logan didn’t even bother to turn his head.

“Yeah, and you aren’t? What was it with the ‘we are pack, we hunt good, you leader, me follower’ vibe with you, kitty and Nate?” 

“People leave only when you let them,” Logan said, “or when you’re so scared o’ them leavin’ that you push them away.” 

“I’m not scared,” Wilson said, indignant, though he smelled hunted, wary.

“Tell that t’the nose, bub.”

“Remind me to fart copiously in your direction in the future.” The mercenary looked peeved, though Nick sensed no aggression. “Then what’s your move, kitties?” 

Victor shrugged, picking up his brother’s palm, sniffing at it before lapping over the spots on the back of Logan’s hands which would normally sprout claws. His brother growled softly, his eyes closed in bliss. “Kill Zero, hopefully. Maybe Wraith.”

“You’re obsessed. I like Wraith, leave him alone. Also, what happened to the house rules?”

“Could be he’ll have a little fatal accident,” Victor continued lapping, unconcerned. “Same as you if you don’t stop bein’ so mouthy.”

Nick tuned out the halfhearted sniping at that point. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Wilson had a point. What were Cable’s motives and how did everyone fit into them? Nick had studied enough history to understand that one man by himself could not rewrite the world. It looked like Cable had set out to do just that. Even if the man was telling the truth, to decide to single-handedly rework history spoke of a dangerous degree of megalomania. Dangerous when combined with the level of telepathic and telekinetic powers that Cable commanded. 

How could Cable be certain that what he was doing or had done was for the better?

What could everyone else do if it was not?

And… what had Cable already done?

#

“If time travel was so hot,” Wade said, squinting at the most enormous flow chart he had ever had the misfortune to see, “then why don’t you go back to the very beginning and explain very clearly to Eve why apples are bad for her?”

A burp of laughter from Bradley was hastily stifled into a cough when he realized no one else was laughing. They were in Richard’s study, staring at a holographic projection of a flowchart that Nate and Richards had spent a day or so putting together. It involved a lot of short form names and a lot of colorful lines, dotted lines, and dashes. Many names were colored blue, some red.

A handful of names had their own color. C. Xavier, M. Eisenhardt (E.M.Lehnsherr), J. Howlett, N. Fury, T. Stark. “These people get the V.I.P. treatment?” 

“They are individuals of particular note in the future,” Nate said patiently. “I hoped to divert or lessen certain… intrinsic events in their lifetimes that may have affected the positive impact they were meant to have on this timeline.” 

“Playing God?” Wade’s lip curled slightly.

“More an editor than God.” Richards had bought Nate’s ideas, hook, line, and sinker. “Mister Bradley, a little more power, please.”

The flowchart obligingly brightened. If it wasn’t for the pretty lady who also lived in this weird complex, Richards and Bradley would’ve been a match made in timeline heaven. “Okay, I’ll bite. Who does what?” Wade asked. 

“The first five men led vanguards of resistance in my future,” Nate said, staring intently at the flowchart. “As to the last, his technology and genius was the base point of most of the future’s defensive equipment.”

“Seems like they’ve already done a good job without your help,” Wade said, “so why bother to come back and meddle?” 

“A concerted, stronger effort in the early stages of the Apocalypse could’ve averted the genocide of most of the world’s human race,” Nate touched another name on the chart. 

People with normal senses of the dramatic wouldn’t say shit like that so fucking casually. “Heavy,” Wade said.

Nate nodded. “In the current timeline, at the time of the Apocalypse, there were only faint threads of an alliance at the beginning. Or outright animosity.”

“So these are the good guys… if you can make me believe that puppy is a good guy… where are the bad guys?” Wade’s trigger finger was getting itchy anyway. When Nate arched an eyebrow at him, Wade elaborated, “We frag them, case closed?”

“It’s not that simple, Mister Wilson,” Richards said. Time travel and chaos theory didn’t shock Richards, but a little killing did? Figures. 

“Some of the men and women who fell to the influence of the enemy did much good in their lives before they bent the knee. I will have to think this further,” Nate admitted. “Also, I may have to keep a closer eye on the changes I have already created.”

Wade could’ve sensed that coming. “Field trip?”

“By myself.” Nate frowned at him.

Yeah, like that would happen. “Blame yourself for never making the effort to take puppy to puppy school. Certain homicidal maniacs downstairs have never learned to ‘sit’ and ‘stay’, remember?”

“Ah.” Nate actually hesitated. “Well.”

“Perhaps we can be of some help there, instead,” Richards said. “You should get some rest, Nathan. You haven’t slept since taking Fury here.”

“Yes, I suppose… yes,” Nate said. He did look tired and stressed. “Perhaps this should not have been a project for one man alone.”

“First step in fixing your problems is always to admit there was a problem,” Wade told him. It was a small start.

#

Weariness was a buzz behind Nate’s eyes, a thick warm fog in his mind as he stepped into the shower. Nate rubbed at his eyes under the hot spray, absently pressing his thumb against the very tip of the techno-organic virus infection on his neck. He forced himself to sort through the jumble of threads in his mind.

The very worst of it was the sharp lines of doubt and suspicion he had read in Fury’s mind. He thought Nate was arrogant. A megalomaniac. Nate had to admit that there was some truth to Fury’s conclusions. He didn’t know what he had been thinking, trying to change the past on his own. 

Perhaps the Mother had been right after all. Before he had left the future she had counseled simplicity. Nate had disregarded it. Sought not only to destroy the threat of Apocalypse but also to improve the growing catastrophe of the global culture that had but fueled Apocalypse’s success. In that, he had erred, so much so that he might have done far more damage to the timeline than good. 

Nate had set himself out to manipulate a small number of threads for the smaller players in the well-documented era of the rise of Apocalypse before starting to influence the bigger names. As he thought back, to the very start, he didn’t notice Wade slipping into the shower behind him.

“Surprise,” Wade said. Callused hands pressed against the base of Nate’s spine, the fingers of his left splayed over the metal infection. Nate snuck a glance over his shoulder and sucked in a breath. Wade was naked, his lean, compact body streaked with old scars. 

Nate allowed Wade to turn him around and press him against the wall of the large shower stall. The added space was an advantage, as was the strength of the tempered glass against his shoulders as Wade pressed up against him. Nate bent for a kiss. Wade’s cock stir against his thigh, Nate’s swelling in response. Nate rubbed the palms of his hands down Wade’s ribs, tracing each perfect muscle. Gods.

Nate opened his mouth to the slighter man’s tongue, pushed his thigh between Wade’s legs. Wade was another possible mistake. Secretly curing his cancer with a drug taken from the future had been child’s play. On hindsight, although this preserved Wade’s keen mind it meant Wade never received Wolverine’s healing factor. And its side-effect of longevity. Perhaps it was a small problem. Logan could probably be persuaded to donate a blood transfusion. Wade could likely be talked into submitting to the procedure. Nate wasn’t sure how a sane Wade would affect the timeline. As to sleeping with Wade—

“You’re thinking thoughts other than sex,” Wade complained. He nipped hard at Nate’s lower lip. “Quit. Attention. Me. Now.”

Nate chuckled helplessly at the feigned irritation in Wade’s pout and reversed their positions. He used telekinesis and his own strength to push Wade up against the shower wall, wrapping his lips against a nipple and suckling. Long fingers pushed into Nate’s short hair, legs wrapping around his flanks. Wade arched with a soft hiss that caused blood to migrate southwards from his brain. Paying the same attention to Wade’s other nipple got a hungry moan. Wade snarled when Nate finally dropped to his knees, kissing down to Wade’s navel.

“Fuck, you look so good,” Wade said breathlessly. Nate took the bobbing cock in hand and began to palm it, lapping at the tip, allowing his body’s drives to take over his exhausted mind. “Like you’ve been doing this all your life, on your knees, you want it, don’t you, you—”

Nate swallowed, slow and steady. It was the only real way to shut Wade up for long. Nate controlled his gag reflex and sank fingers into the mercenary’s narrow hips. Salt, water and bitterness. He ran his tongue under the silky skin and over the vein, felt fingers dig into his shoulders. Nate shivered as he stole a hand down to grip his own arousal. Wade was close, strung-out and gasping as he stayed obediently still. Nate bobbed down on the cock and listened to Wade’s mental whine of _pleasemoreyes_. Wade keened and startled babbling. Three languages today. He moaned something filthy in Hokkien that broke against an incomprehensible ragged thread of French, ebbing into garbled Spanish. 

Wade didn’t last long after that. He let out a harsh shout as he spent himself in Nate’s mouth. Nate pulled back to swallow as much as he could, working himself with his hand. He rode the waves of pleasure-release-completion-ecstasy that Wade was broadcasting until his own orgasm took him, cupping it neatly in his palm. Dazed, Nate lapped at Wade’s cock until Wade pushed weakly at his cheeks and tugged at his shoulders. 

Nate got up. He took the kiss and the edges of a thought, _whenwillthisend_. Almost answered. Catching himself in time, Nate pulled them both under the shower. Grinned as Wade squawked indignantly at the sudden deluge. At this point in time, Nate had no answer to that thought, and Wade knew it. Wade’s eyes were wide and dark.

“By the way,” Wade said, a little hoarsely, forcing a smirk, “there’s someone waiting for you at the reception. The others sent me to get you.”

“What? Who? Why didn’t you say something?”

“And have you go up looking like death? You’ve got to be hella tired if you didn’t pick it off my mind. Besides, ‘well-fucked’ is a good look for you.” Wade landed a light smack on Nate’s arse, making him flinch. Wade soaped himself quickly, rinsed, and stepped out for a towel. “You might want to finish up before kitty and puppy decide to have Prim and Proper for a snack.” 

The fading image from Wade’s mind of what the visitor looked like made Nate hurry. 

Them.

#

The woman was tall, slender, and dressed in a yellow bodysuit. Her blonde hair was perfectly coiffed, her eyes hidden behind a pair of shades. She smiled blandly and stood from the armchair when Cable approached, one manicured hand extended. On the couch was Fury, looking wary next to Johnny Storm. Perched on the love-seat was Wilson, again fully armed. Prowling nearby at the windows were Victor and Logan, their eyes darting between the woman and Cable. Ben stood behind the woman, expressionless.

Cable looked a little more relaxed than before. Under the soap and hot water, the fading scents of sex told Logan why Wilson had taken so damned long. 

“Nathan Summers. My name is—”

“Zoe Culloden, the Expediter. I know you,” Cable said. His apprehension made Logan tense. Victor was hunched, ready to go into a crouch, his lip slightly curled. “What business does Landau, Luckman, and Lake have with me?” 

“You know our business if you are from the future, Mister Summers,” Zoe said coolly. She was unfazed by the tension palpable in the room. “No need for me to waste any further time. LLC has been monitoring your activities since you stepped back in the timestream. We’re furthering you a polite notice to cease and desist. Though undoubtedly well-intended, your work has been interfering quite alarmingly with ours.”

“If you knew what the messiah you were preparing for would be, you would welcome my ‘interference’,” Cable retorted.

“I would rather doubt it. It does appear from your very existence that we failed. Apocalypse had come instead. Your appearance has thrown the timestream into flux. Our precogs see multiple futures now instead of only one, and not many of them are pretty.” Culloden folded her arms.

Ben cleared his throat. “Am I the only one who feels like he’s only getting a quarter of the conversation here?”

Cable glanced at Culloden, who nodded slightly. “Landau, Luckman, and Lake is an organization consisting of several cover corporations. They consist of a law firm and various other business conglomerates. At its heart is a cabal. The founders intend to immanentize the eschaton.”

“To what the what?” Johnny frowned.

“To bring forward the coming of the Messiah. Heaven on earth,” Wilson explained. “Or, in some other definitions, Ragnarok.”

“I can assure you we have as little interest as you do in bringing forward the latter,” Culloden was quick to demur. Cable nodded his agreement.

“The details are not entirely clear, but I do know that the Messiah that Landau, Luckman, and Lake intended to bring forth was somewhat less of a savior than a destroyer.”

“The winners rewrite history, Nathan Summers. You cannot be certain of that.” Culloden glanced over at Wilson. “Some of the changes you have made can be easily fixed. My colleagues may disagree, but I do believe a sane Wade Wilson is far more useful to the timeline than an insane one.”

“You’re calling him sane?” Victor asked.

“Well thanks, kitty.” Wilson stuck out his tongue.

“However,” Culloden interrupted the sniping, “James Howlett should’ve been separated from Victor Creed. Creed’s influence makes him less human. Howlett should have a wide-ranging affiliation with many organizations that may not come to pass as he is now. Our precogs affirm this. Again, easily fixed.”

Logan stiffened. Victor growled, stepping forward, his claws lengthening. “I’ll give ya ‘easily fixed’, bitch—” 

Cable held up a hand. “Let her say her piece.”

“I could go on,” Culloden said, “but the last major change you have wrought is more difficult. By rescuing Magda Eisenhardt and removing the catalyst for Magneto to make his presence known to the world, you have wreaked massive damage on the timeline. Magda’s death had to have been conducted in a certain way for the catalyst to come to pass.”

“I arrived too late to save the little girl,” Cable said flatly. “You would have me leave a woman to freeze to death as well?”

“Had you saved Anya Eisenhardt, our precogs are clear that Magneto would not have survived to see Apocalypse,” Culloden retorted.

Cable looked sharply at Ben. “Reed and Susan. Warn them, now.”

“You have them watching Magneto, but not Magda.” Culloden stepped back as Victor started forward menacingly. “Please do consider yourself as under notice, Mister Summers. Take this as a lesson. You can’t be everywhere to preserve your mistakes. We, on the other hand, can be everywhere to fix them.”

With that, the woman vanished in a lingering smell of ozone.

“Little girl? Woman? What? Law firm? This is like the time where I was high on pop tarts and brandy and watching Korean dramas and trying to figure out why everyone had cancer,” Wilson said, wide-eyed. 

“Sounds like they’re going to murder a woman,” Ben growled. Johnny darted off to the communications room to check on Richards. “Let’s git.”

“Can’t make it there in time,” Fury said.

“I can.” Cable pinched at the bridge of his nose. “Victor, Wade, Logan, stay with Fury. Ben, could you watch them, please. Try to convince Johnny not to go after his sister. I’ll handle it.”

Wilson scowled. “The hell you will, and how are you going to—” 

“Bodyslide by one.”

“—get there. Oh what. I didn’t even know he could do that. That’s fucking unfair, that is.” Wilson stared at the spot where Cable had been. “Great! Guard duty on puppy, kitty, and eyepatch. Let’s break out the popcorn and the romcoms. I mean, like hell we’re staying here,” he said, smirking as Victor snorted. “You guys have a plane, right? All self-respecting superhero groups have a plane.”

“Hangar’s that way,” Ben said.

Wilson whooped. “School trip!”

#

“Anyone find it funny that in a story about time travel people are late all the goddamned time?” Wilson asked.

“Shut up, Wilson,” Victor growled. He was sniffing at the air. The weather was just chilly enough for Victor to feel sleepy, and it showed in his increasing scent of frustration.

The plane had landed some distance from the Polish town of Rybnik, where the grounds began to cede to gorgeous forest. Richards smiled in relief as he approached. Behind him was a tall, white-haired man who smelled like lightning and the fury of thunder. 

“Where’s Susan?” Johnny demanded. “And Cable?”

“Bit o’ a fight,” Logan said. He kept an eye on Victor, who circled warily around the white-haired man. “Gunpowder an’ that funny burnin’ scent from Cable’s gun. Some blood. Cable’s, not enough t’be serious. Two women, one o’ them Susan Storm. ‘Nother plane. Everyone left.”

“Can you tell what everyone had for breakfast too?” Wilson peered at the burn marks left on the grass. Probably from a hoverplane. “One person was dragged along. Probably Cable, heavy grooves. Don’t see Susan’s tracks. She must have kept to the grass. Small prints here, shoe tracks don’t look like military boots. Think Magda went willingly.”

The white-haired man’s gaze snapped down at her name. He snarled something in German. Wilson put up his hands in mock surrender and replied effortlessly in the same tongue. Mollified, the man turned back to Richards, speaking in rapid-fire. Richards spoke back haltingly, at which point Wilson interrupted again. 

“This is Max Eisenhardt,” Richards said unnecessarily. “He says to call him Magnus. We actually split up. Susan went to watch Magda, and I decided to try my rather poor German on Mister Eisenhardt. We were engaged in a somewhat halting discussion on Nietzsche when Susan informed me that something was wrong. We then got the call from Nathan. Once we got here this was all we found. Then we got Johnny’s call.”

“So Susan sneaked onto the ship with them?” Johnny grinned, clearly proud of his sister’s audacity. 

“Her vital signs still green. Save for a slightly higher heart rate.” Richards had a small console in his hand that he checked constantly. He looked shaky but determined. “Let’s follow the tracker. Mister Eisenhardt—er, sorry, Mister Wilson, could you translate—we will be doing our best to retrieve Miss Magda. In the meantime, you should be watching over your children, in case the men from… what was it again, Landau, Luckman, and Lake? Yes, in case they come back.”

Eisenhardt shook his head as Wilson translated. Logan didn’t need to understand German to pick up the mutant’s intent. Victor growled, “We don’t babysit.” 

“Don’t you think he looks like Nate? He could be a temporary mascot.” Wilson gestured at their plane. “Also, did you notice how our plane is hovering off the ground? He’s saying if we don’t leave without him, we don’t leave. Which usually, I would answer with the business end of my katana, except that his name is on the Great Flowchart of Doom in a red box, and I rather like red.”

“What about his children?” Richards asked. “The twins? We left them temporarily with Miss Magda’s neighbor.”

“Where’s the tracker heading? I bet it’s Manhattan,” Wilson said.

“Close, but no. Still in the United States.”

“So we take the kids, drop them off with Ben and Fury at the Baxter Building, and head out to kick some secret conspiracy organization butt.” Wilson counted the actions off on his fingers. “Good plan?”

“I like it.” Johnny Storm cracked his knuckles. 

Richards coughed. “Ben and Mister Fury aren’t particularly the least, er, intimidating of figures for children, I should think.” 

“With a plane ride to Manhattan and enough ice cream and popcorn, they won’t care if Ben looked like Godzilla and Fury looked like Ronald MacDonald,” Wilson said.

Richards looked blank. “Ronald MacDonald is a kids’ cartoon figure.”

Wilson beamed. “Exactly. Now if that doesn’t show how fucked up kids are, I don’t know what will.”

#

Nate woke in a stasis cell, a make that he quickly recognized. Far into the future, Apocalypse had used similar detention units, albeit of a more advanced nature. There were rows of cubes stacked upon cubes, lined with walkways. Nate counted four levels, mostly empty cells.

Stasis cells preserved their prisoners at the very moment of trigger, preventing them from using any abilities. At the same time, they kept frozen any explosives, internal devices, technology, or armor upgrades that the prisoner might possess. In Nate’s case, it froze the virus but also his telepathic abilities.

Nate did know ways around such cells, searched and divested of weaponry as he had been and dressed in prisoner’s orange fatigues. The only problem was that any form of escape not only would take time to execute, it would also require time to plan. He might not have that kind of luxury. 

Frustrated, Nate took a deep breath. He sat down on the plain bunk affixed to the wall, running his mind through a simple Ask’ani meditation exercise. He had to leave his guilt, disappointment, and irritation at himself behind him. Nate would need his mind clear to think around the make of the cell—

“Nathan Summers.” Culloden’s voice cut into his thoughts. Nate opened his eyes sharply at the crackle of electricity. Culloden had stepped through the blue energy of the stasis grille, a sharp smile on her perfect face. “Don’t bother with violence. You’ve been well-collared, I assure you.”

“I can see that,” Nate said, as politely as he could. He didn’t bother to stand up. “What have you done with Magda?”

“She offered to come with us, no fuss, if we spared your life.” Culloden said. She crossed her arms. The black visor under her shock of blonde hair made it impossible to read the Expediter any further than the thin line of her mouth. “You made quite an impression on her. At present, she is in Holding while the Overboss discusses her fate with the Panel.”

Nate stifled the instinctive anger that rose in his throat. Magda was still alive. That was something. “What do you plan to do with me?”

“You happen to be an integral aspect of one of Landau, Luckman, and Lake’s projects, Mister Summers. In time you will be released back to the outside world. Perhaps with a better understanding of your purpose.” Under her bosom, slender fingers twisted slightly, invisible to any overhead cameras. Nate could now hear the faint echo of surface thoughts. 

_Summers?_ Culloden murmured.

_What…?_

_A weak dissonator. It should allow us to conduct a separate conversation while holding one in speech for observers. It will not, however, allow you enough power to escape this cell._ “I have been authorized to give you some details,” Culloden said.

“If you expect aid from me you will be very disappointed.” _What do you want?_

“Hardly. We do, however, intend to steer you in the right direction.” _Circumstances are difficult to explain, but you are not without your allies. Time may have changed, but some of us believe that it may not be entirely for the worse._

“Should I have any incentive to follow?” Nate leant back against the infused wall. He felt the faint buzz of electricity prickle his skin through the thin fabric. _And so?_

“Properly restrained, we do intend to introduce you to one of our precogs. Perhaps he will be able to better persuade you.” _I am well aware that Miss Susan Storm stowed aboard the airship that picked you and Mrs. Eisenhardt up, Nathan Summers. At present, I am allowing her free reign in this quadrant. Think of it as giving you some leeway._

 _And you would do this out of the kindness of your heart?_ “A precog?”

“Certain psychics, enhanced by Landau, Luckman, and Lake technology to have visions. They have long predicted the advent of the Messiah.” _Hardly. My personal project as Expediter is Wade Wilson. While we engineer a healing factor, it would be in my best interests if you helped keep him alive._

“That is hard to believe, even coming from the future.” Given Nate’s from-the-future knowledge of Wilson’s involvement with the Mithras Directive, hearing Wilson’s name spoken in the same line as ‘project’ was not meant to be a shock. 

Nate still had to exert effort to keep his patience. Wilson was getting far under his skin. Too dangerously so. Warily, he asked, _And only that?_

“You would have to see it firsthand.” _Such a suspicious mind._ Amusement. _The current Overboss of the Mithras Directive is very set against your further involvement in this timestream, to the point of obsession. His last consideration consisted of the outright murder, incarceration or ‘re-education’ of all the people whose lives you have touched up to date. Think of it as entirely in our mutual interests as well were I to rise further in the chain of command._

“You are no doubt aware that were a limiter to be placed upon me, the virus within me would consume me.” _I am not in a good position at present to arrange the sort. Even were I to agree to murder._

The very thought made Nate uneasy. He had come to the past to change things for the better. In doing this he had killed, killed many times, but he had tried to minimize this. Tried to become a soldier instead of a mercenary. A killer for coin did not deserve to direct the future. 

“Our technicians are in the process of producing a solution to that problem. When it’s done, I will contact you again.” _Miss Storm has a tracking device upon her person. No doubt your team will soon be here. If you do not wish to sully your hands… you need only point certain of them in the right direction._ The Expediter inclined her head in mock politeness and slipped back out of the stasis cage, leaving Nate to consider a range of poor choices.

#

The tracker led them to Boston. The plane was left cloaked and locked in a hover above Boston Common, and they proceeded on foot. Hard to look as inconspicuous. Eisenhardt’s silver hair stood out starkly in the crowd, but it was lunch hour. The waves of people intent on food ignored them, though some people shot Johnny Storm, Wilson, and Eisenhardt admiring glances.

A couple of blocks down and Reed abruptly stopped. He peered at the tracker display in his hands. “Susan’s last rapid movement stopped here. Looks like she went on foot, going east. There has to be a way down. Some sort of elevator, maybe.” 

“Or some sort o’ hidden hangar, ‘bout few miles away and tunneled in after?” Victor rolled his eyes. “Could’a thought o’ that earlier, smart guy.”

“If this is a proper Secret Religious Nutcase base, there are probably lots of entrances all around the city. Probably at least one service entrance near their hangar,” Wilson said. He looked at the display in Reed’s hands, then around them. “We just need to look for some sort of way down. A long way down.” 

Victor grinned toothily at Bradley, who looked resigned. Bradley closing his eyes for a moment. “There’s a lift system going down to the grid, a block of streets away. A lot of security. Same as up top. The layout looks like a bank.”

“What sort o’ security?” Logan asked.

“Electronic, I think. Down at the base, there are human guards. Wearing some sort of enhanced electronic body armor. Sensory helmets.”

“Sounds good t’me.” Victor seemed pleased.

“There won’t be any killing of any sort,” Reeds said hastily, looking determined as he stepped into Victor’s path. Smart as the man was, he obviously didn’t have much of a sense of self-preservation. Logan placed a hand on Victor’s shoulder before his brother retaliated. 

“You don’t want t’get your hands dirty, stay up here an’ keep watch,” Victor growled. He shrugged off Logan’s grip with a sidelong stare of warning.

“It’ll take you longer to find him without my help,” Reeds retorted, looking determined, “so no killing.”

Victor held his stare for a long moment. He smiled his ugly smile, the one that showed all his incisors. “I don’t remember havin’ t’take orders from you, funny man.”

“I hate to interrupt all the testosterone,” Wilson interjected urbanely, “but can we have this conversation later? Or at least, not on the street for everyone walking past to hear? Reed, you can’t change people, especially sociopathic kitty people. Victor, just remember we’re not being paid to kill anyone. Can we go now? Before I get really hungry and break my diet and go for some hotdogs? And do we have a plan?”

“A plan?” Johnny asked, frowning. “I thought we were just going to walk in there, use Bradley to get down, and then kick ass until we find Susan, Cable, and Mrs. Eisenhardt.” 

“Sounds good t’me,” Victor said. At Wilson’s sigh, he growled, irritably, “What? You got better ideas?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. But,” the mercenary said brightly, “it does involve you, Logan, and Johnny waltzing in there and kicking ass. Does that elevator only have one stop, Bradley?”

“Nope. The first one ends someplace big, though. A lot of cabling and things that feel like planes.” Bradley was visibly pale. “I have to go down there with you guys?”

“Suuure. Don’t want you to feel left out, after all. Here’s the plan. Save your applause until I’m finished. We’re gonna split into teams. Kitty, puppy, Johnny, and Bradley. Me, Reeds, and Eisenhardt. Because no one else speaks German.” Wilson switched to German, talking to Eisenhardt for a moment. The man bit his lip, glanced behind him, and nodded sharply. 

“And then?” Logan asked. The grouping was obvious to Logan, save where Bradley was involved. Effectively, he and his brother were indestructible. Johnny Storm’s ability was… well, turning into a full-body candle probably wasn’t good for stealing into places. “Why do we get Bradley?”

“Because you need someone who can tell a door to ‘Open Sesame’ and have it work,” Wilson said, with exaggerated patience. “We get Eisenhardt, you get Bradley. If you want to trade, you better be able to speak German. Okay? So. Once you bust in the front and lay waste to your opposition, hopefully in a humane way or whatever, you guys can go look for Cable. Team B, being us, will go look for Susan. Hopefully, that leads us to Mrs. Eisenhardt. Once we have everyone, we go to town on the place, and then come out and have waffles at the Back Bay. Good plan?”

“Splitting up might not be a good idea,” Reed disagreed.

“Of course it is. Firstly, the author just realized she can’t handle the dialogue from such a large group of characters at one go and has to split them into smaller bite-sized groups, savvy? Secondly, they’re looking to kill the lady. If we bust in there and go straight for her, they might just kill her straight up. If the only apparent team busting in there only seems to care about Nate, maybe she’ll get a bit more time. You can applaud now.”

“You talk too much,” Victor informed him gruffly. Logan could tell Victor liked the plan though. No-casualties missions had never been Victor’s favorites. 

“How are you three gonna get into the elevator without being noticed?” Logan asked.

“Bradley said it was a bank, right? Easy.”

#

Wade loved it whenever everything went right.

He had been fairly sure that his method of getting the important half of the team unnoticed into the bank would work. Richards, Eisenhardt, and himself-with-image-inducer had gone into the bank posing as customers, the rest had busted in some time later as bank robbers, convenient hostages had been taken and a blubbering manager with Victor’s claws flexing in his shoulder had shown them the Secret Lift.

After that, they’d parted ways, with Team B taking the first stop and Team A the second to the hangar. Team B then snuck through empty corridors, triangulating on Susan Storm’s position thanks to Richards’ tracker toys and Eisenhardt’s rather useful ability to sense incoming metal in the form of any patrolling guards toting heavy duty weaponry as well as his ability to open titanium doors locked electronically. 

Thanks to the alarm triggered by Team A having playtime in the said hangar, the guards were mostly busy. They’d found Susan efficiently occupied in short-circuiting a section of a cellblock with her forcefields. Now Eisenhardt was embracing a pretty brunette lady. German had never sounded so romantic. 

Objective one complete, check. 

“Now what?” Richards asked. He frowned at the other prisoners. 

Richards and Susan Storm had been discussing whether or not to free them, though some of the prisoners were clearly, in Wade’s opinion, missing a full set of marbles. What with the screaming and foaming at the mouth and hissing. Some would’ve looked right at home on the set of the Island of Dr. Moreau. Sort of like the Siberian Test Tube matter, just hairier. 

“Meet up with Team A and get out of here,” Wade said. He wasn’t much for the bleedin’ hearts sort of put-things-out-of-their-misery philosophy. “Didn’t see a souvenir shop on our way here or a decent café, and I’m starved.”

“I’m sorry for misjudging you, Mister Wilson,” Susan told him wryly. “I thought you were just a cold-blooded killer in yet another black ops outfit. Didn’t think you’ll come through for someone you didn’t know, with no pay at that.”

“Don’t get me wrong, lady. I didn’t come here for Mrs. Eisenhardt. I’m here for Cable,” Wade said.

“What?” Richards looked surprised. As though one good deed did a Mother Theresa make. 

“Once we bust him out, Cable will immediately make us come and get her. This way everything is more efficient. C’mon. Let’s get going.” Wade spoke a brief string of German to Eisenhardt, instructing the man to keep a lookout. “Richards, you have a way of locating where Johnny Storm is?”

“He has a flameproof communicator on him.” Richards tapped something on his tracker as they headed out back down the corridor they had come in from, stepping over the bodies of guards that Reed and Wade had knocked out. “Johnny?”

“Yeah? Reed, Team A totally rocks.” Johnny sounded cheerful. “We’ve got Cable. Tell me we beat you to it.”

“Might be a tie, Johnny. How’s Cable?”

“Hang on.” There was a buzz of static, then the voice coming through the tracker sounded tired. Wearier than being kidnapped might warrant. It was clearly Nate, and it didn’t sound like he was hurt. 

“Reed, thank you for your help. How are Miss Storm and Miss Magda?” Cable asked.

“They’re both fine. We’re heading towards your position,” Richards said.

“No. Head out of this place any way you can. Try not to use the original entry point. I picked the map of this place out of the minds of a few guards. There’s a lift system to your west. If we meet up to leave together, we’ll merely be a larger target. We will try and draw fire. Contact us only once you have found your way out.” Nate hesitated. “Wade, are you there?”

“’Sup, Nate?” Wade asked.

“Good. Get those people out and rendezvous in Boston Commons. It is very important that the Eisenhardts are unharmed.”

“I hear you, boss,” Wade said dryly. “You want them fed and clothed too?”

“If you can fit in the time,” Nate replied. Wade could hear the thread of fondness under his words. “Good work, Wade. Stay safe.”

Now, if that didn’t make him just feel like he’d saved the world. 

The warm glow was quickly ruined by the highly recognizable, even tramp of combat boots rounding the corridor. Wade reached for the hilts of his katanas. “More goddamn pro bono. Hello boys. You don’t know it yet, but I’m just about to ruin your day.”

#

When the comm switched off, Nate looked over at Johnny Storm. The man was so young. Younger than the icon he remembered. Losing him here would be a blow to the future, and what Nate wanted to do next was an unjustifiable risk. It ran the same with Logan.

“Johnny, thank you for your help. The rest of you follow him out.”

“I don’t know if I heard that right, but it looks like you’re stayin’,” Victor told him. Didn’t budge. 

“While I was incarcerated, Zoe Culloden mentioned something about ‘precogs’. I’d like to see one for myself.” What more to inform him of his progress than a man who could see the future? “It doesn’t concern either of you, and I don’t wish to place any of you in further danger.”

The brothers glanced at each other, then back at him. Logan folded his arms. “I don’t know if they fed you any happy mushrooms in the can, Cable, but we came in here t’bust you out. If you want t’take a walk and smell the roses, we’re comin’ with you.”

“And if you think you’re going to leave me out of the fun, you’ve got another think coming,” Johnny chipped in with a bright grin.

“Do I have a say in this?” Bradley asked in a small voice.

“Shut up, squirt,” Victor growled, showing his teeth.

“Right… right…”

“Very well.” Nate gave in. He was running on too little sleep and was still a little off-kilter from the stasis. The extra help would be very useful if they intended to break further into the heart of Landau, Luckman, and Lake. He could sense three psychic resonances beneath his feet, one brighter than the rest. “This way.”

#

They waited in the park for a good twenty minutes before Wade concluded that he had just been scammed. “That’s one ‘welcome back’ kiss he won’t be getting,” Wade muttered to himself.

The Eisenhardts were sitting on a bench, talking quietly between themselves. Max would occasionally look up at Wade, then at Richards, frown, then turn his attention back to his wife. It was… magnetic. Heh.

… and when he started making bad puns about his companions… “Reed. Is that communicator still on?” Wade asked.

“Yes, why?” Susan and Richards were sitting on the grass under the sun. Looked like lovebirds too, if you ignored Reed’s bumbleheaded obliviousness. He’d been yammering on about some obscure mathematical theorem. 

“I’m getting a bit worried.”

“Cable is one of the most powerful telepaths on earth, and Johnny is with him,” Richards replied soothingly, though he took out his tracker. “I’m not worried that they will get out fine.”

“I’m worried that they’re up to something else that they conveniently forgot to tell us about,” Wade said. He knew it. “If kitty and puppy got to Cable about the same time as we got to Magda, they should’ve come out about the same time we did or earlier. Seeing as they’re not one for subtlety and wouldn’t have bothered to get out unnoticed.”

“He has a point, Reed,” Susan said quietly. “And I wouldn’t put it beyond my brother to tag along just for fun.”

“Johnny?” Richards had the tracker switched on. “Come in, Johnny.”

“Hey guys,” Johnny sounded breezy. His voice was faint, as though the transmission was coming in from further away. “We’ve just taken a slight detour. Be back soon.”

“A detour where?” Richards asked.

“Cable’s having a chat with three E.T.”

“Aliens?” Richards brightened up.

“Nope. Sure looks like E.T. though. You know, that movie? They’re precogs. Can see the future. Nate’s asking one of them a lot of questions. I think we’re probably going to steal him.”

“Steal what?” Susan grabbed the tracker. “You can’t steal a person. It’s called _kidnapping_.”

“Only if they don’t want to come along. And Victor and Logan are really persuasive.”

“Johnny!” Susan sounded exasperated. “Ohh… you and are are going to have a talk.”

“Sure thing, sis.” Johnny still sounded unconcerned. “Be there soon, love you bye.”

“Wait, you just walked right in deeper into that building, no trouble at all?” Richards always did seem to miss the point.

“What did I say? Team A rocks. Looks like Cable’s done talking. Got to go. Johnny out.”

The line cut dead, leaving them to stare at each other. 

“Well, fuck,” Wade muttered, at the same time as Susan rolled her eyes and said, “I _knew_ it.”

The tracker beeped again. Richards switched it on.

“Think of it, Mister Wilson, as a gesture of good faith.” The voice from the tracker crackled with static, indicating triangulation from a different position. The voice was still familiar.

“Zoe Culloden.”

“Indeed. We’re lending Nate Summers a precog, in exchange for being left alone. Damage was done to the Boston sector which will take time to rebuild.”

“Nate bargained with you? I find that hard to believe,” Wade said. Max was watching them, with a querying tilt to his head. Wade shook his head, though Max only frowned in return. 

“Not that he’s aware of. But he did perform a great service for me by default. The right person was in place at the right time in the hangar.”

“This is me wondering when you’re going to tell me why I should care.”

“I’m trying to dissuade you from going back to the facility in search of Cable. I’ve been watching all of you for quite a while, and it has been quite a suitable arrangement to date.”

“You mean other than us busting into your place and getting Magda out alive,” Wade told her. Creepy.

“I wanted that to happen. Wasn’t your walk to her holding cell quite incident free? Similarly, Cable was not meant to be incarcerated for very long. Just long enough to plant some ideas in his mind. He’s acted on them quite conveniently. We’ve had years to conduct our plans. You’ll not escape our calculations so quickly.”

“You are one creepy bitch.” Wade looked around, his eyes narrowed, but could only pick out the usual oblivious civilians. 

“Sadly, it does tend to be part of the job description. Our precog will be a fair asset to Cable in the years to come if he does intend to make the world a better place. Do enjoy your time with Cable, Mister Wilson, and watch his hand. If he strays from the path, you’ll find that we won’t be so forgiving a second time. Culloden out.”

There was a long silence as all of them stared at the tracker. Richards exhaled, long and loud. “What the heck was that all about?”

“Either she’s one hell of a spin machine, or we’ve been played.” Wade glared back in the bank building’s general direction, his jaw set. Nate had a lot of explaining to do.

#

Everything ended so suspiciously neatly that even Victor seemed dissatisfied. The big, anticipated showdown with the rest of Weapon X never came. Richards’ ‘contact’ in the military came through. Within a week, Weapon X was disbanded due to human rights abuses located within its facilities.

The remnants of Weapon X that weren’t being court-marshaled were transferred into a new defense force named S.H.I.E.L.D. with Nick Fury as the executive director. The precog they had dug up was installed in the helicarrier. The Eisenhardts corresponded with one Charles Xavier and eventually decided to found a school for mutant kids in Westchester together. Landau, Luckman, and Lake vanished. The only real problem Logan had with the whole damned happy ending was why the goddamn S.H.I.E.L.D. main headquarters had to be a goddamn flying ship. 

That and how bloody Wade Wilson had gone to ground abruptly after S.H.I.E.L.D. had been formed. He’d cited recent events and claimed that he wanted to think things over. Cable had let it slide for a couple of months until everything had settled down, and then he’d promptly left to chase Wilson’s tail. Not before instructing Victor and Logan to stay put.

What with the new gig being so suitable, it’d been harder to drop it all and ignore orders. Especially since this time, Cable had promised that he was coming back. Still, the entire matter was fundamentally annoying as pack, even to Victor. His brother was standing at the window, watching the clouds. Victor smelled tense. They had a mission at 0600 hours, despite Victor’s bitching about the timing. All the pacing around and muttering was getting on Logan’s nerves.

“You want t’share?” Logan asked.

Technically, this was Logan’s room. Victor had an adjoining one that he even used occasionally, but Logan had stopped pointing this out a while ago. Flying never sat very well with him, and Victor’s presence helped, even if his brother would never stop taunting him about it. 

“Wonderin’ where Cable is,” Victor said. 

“Wonderin’ won’t find him.” Logan rolled over onto his side on the bed to eyeball his brother pointedly. “I did say we could go look.”

“Wouldn’t know where t’start.” Victor’s fingers flexed thoughtfully, the long yellow nails sliding out, then back. “S’pose he’ll be back.”

“Wouldn’t know about that.” Logan yawned, curling up. Working with S.H.I.E.L.D. suited him. Fury was a principled man, despite his ruthlessness. Victor was working well, if sullenly, under the enforced discipline. Someone was always conveniently close by to shoot him full of tranquilizer darts if he disobeyed. Brute force and cunning were two of the few traits that Victor was wired to accept as authority, and Fury demonstrated an intuitive approach to both.

“You like this gig,” Victor said. He sauntered back to curl up against him on the large bed, back to back, the curve of his spine pressing into Logan’s bared lower back. 

“Do you?”

“Could use fewer nannies, but sure.” Victor shrugged, muscles flexing against Logan’s skin. The warmth was hot, the musk comfortably familiar. “Could have used tearin’ out Stryker’s throat as well.”

“Thought you had somethin’ against Zero, not Stryker.”

“Didn’t like how Stryker looked at you. Didn’t like Zero period.” It was Victor’s turn to yawn. “Would’a killed that one slower. So. You gonna sleep, or am I gonna have t’tire you out?”

“Fury hates it when we fight outside o’ the trainin’ rooms.” Something about carpets being a bitch to clean and employee janitor therapy being a bitch to pay for.

“Didn’t say how we were gonna fight.” Grinning, baring his sharp teeth, Victor pounced.

Sometime later, several S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives frequenting the corridor below had a nasty shock when bone claws punched momentarily through the roof.

#

Bad things always happened to New York; bad guys always tried to hide out in Rio. Wade sat in the small fishing trawler anchored some distance off the coast, cleaning out his gun in the light of a lantern. He whistled to himself. Two large smears of blood ran from a pool on the deck and off into the dark waters. Wade would have to remember to hose it all down before returning the boat to the fisherman he’d rented it from.

He looked up when he caught an approaching blue glow in his peripheral vision, hands going to the hilts of his katanas, then he smirked and went back to wiping down his gun. By the time Nate got to the trawler, the gun was back in its holster and Wade was waiting, arms crossed.

“You’re a hard man to find,” Nate said quietly. His gaze dropped to the bloodstain, his glowing eye turning brighter for a moment.

“For someone who tends to wear katanas on his back? Seriously?” Wade asked, facetious. He’d been particularly careful this time round, especially once he’d known that Nate was looking for him. 

“Are you back on the job?” Nate asked. Shabby trenchcoats, black tees, and jeans never looked this good lined in crackling blue and floating above a murky sea. Wade wondered if Nate was reading his mind. “Not entirely,” Nate said, his eyes narrowing.

“Then you can see that I am indeed back on the pay-per-kill lifestyle,” Wade said. He drew his second gun from the other holster to disassemble it.

“You just killed Zero and Stryker. Did you get paid for that?”

Wade ignored the question. “That’s how you found me?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. was running transference. We were going to get them extradited.”

“Think of it as a freebie. Stryker knows a lot of secrets. You’d have gotten life at best, and even then, he’d probably be out on parole sooner or later.” Wade started work on the muzzle. “He made sure to know a hell of a lot about all of us.”

“What did he know about you?”

“What’s keeping you from looking?”

“I don’t just invade someone else’s mind.” Nate was remarkably calm, all things considered.

“I know. Or I’d never have let you near me.” Wade glanced up briefly. “I’m not interested in working for S.H.I.E.L.D. or any organization right at this point. I’ve missed being freelance. Pulling my own strings, as it were. Also, the money’s better. I’m even interviewing secretaries.”

“Did Culloden tell you something that day?” Nate was either being perceptive or lying about mind invasions, but Wade decided to give him the benefit of doubt.

“Maybe she did.”

“Wade, I would never—”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve changed and all that,” Wade interrupted sharply, “I haven’t. Having a nice paying gig was fun for a while, even with kitty and puppy, but I’ve missed taking only jobs that I want to do. Missed not being part of some greater scheme that I can’t see. It wasn’t Culloden.”

“No?” Nate sounded surprised.

“Like I’ll buy anything some anonymous stranger tells me. It was you. What you did on that day. What you’ve always done. I took a long look at everything we’d been through so far and hell, for you there’ll always be the greater scheme. I don’t think I figure much in there and right now I think I deserve better.”

Wade took a breath. “Think of it as being petty or selfish if it makes you feel better, but you can’t apply the ‘I’m from the future and I know better’ approach to everyone and have them buy it all the time. Someday when you’re done playing God, you can come looking for me.”

“I’m not playing God,” Nate said softly.

“Whatever makes you feel better.” Wade assembled the second gun and slipped it back into its holster. “Got a trawler to wash and a fisherman to return it to. Be seeing you. And get off the boat, it’s still mine right now.”

Nate landed on it, avoiding the blood, walking up until Wade was crowded between the rail and the cabin wall. One big hand pressed up against the slick surface, the other on steel. Wade’s instincts screamed for him to knee Nate in the nuts, reach for his katanas or his guns. Instead, Wade kept his hands twisted into fists at his side. “This is sexual harassment.” 

“I didn’t think that if I went back in time I would fall in love with someone,” Nate said, so very seriously. “And other than you I have done nothing else in this timeline that was purely for the sake of my own desires.”

“And so?” Sounding calm was difficult. Hell if it didn’t make Wade sound like a bastard. But he could never stand being told what to do, especially if it was ‘for his own good’. He was never gonna be okay with what Nate was setting out to be. Nate’s glowing eye flickered. He backed off slowly.

“Stay safe, Wade,” Nate said. He sounded wistful.

Ah, fuck it.

Nate tensed up when Wade darted forward for an open-mouthed kiss that turned into another, then another. They kissed until they had to break for air. Wade licked his lips. Nate must have read something off the top of Wade’s mind. His next breath huffed out in disappointment. “I won’t stop doing what I have to,” Nate said.

“Ain’t that a pity.” Wade said, a little breathless. “Guess we’ll have to postpone that happy ending.”

“I don’t understand why you can’t accept it.”

Test tubes in Siberia, a flowchart of names. Playing God. “No, I suppose you don’t. Maybe you won’t.”

Wade left Nate floating over the waters, staring up at a darkening sky that was the colour of past regrets. Somewhere inland there was churrasco, a phone, and a nice gig up in Cuba with his name on it. Wade didn’t say goodbye. There was no real need to.

#

Max Eisenhardt wasn’t entirely surprised to find that the ‘glowing intruder’ on the roof, as described by a somewhat panicky young Kitty Pryde, was actually Nathan ‘Cable’ Summers. Apparently, the ‘intruder’ had done nothing more than sit on their roof.

Summers didn’t look up when Max settled down beside him, dressed in a trench that had seen better days. His denim-clad legs were crossed over the tiles. Summers was looking up at the dark sky, distant.

“Have you ever thought of going back?” Max asked. He had been practicing his English. While he was more fluent in it than Magda was, it was still heavily accented. 

“To the future?” Summers continued to look upwards at the stars. “Not for a while. What about you? Have you thought about going back to Germany?”

“No. Too many bad memories. My home is here now.” Max patted the roof. He blinked when Summers stared at him with a smile, as though pleasantly surprised. “Did I say something?”

“No… no. How is Xavier?”

“You could have found out for yourself had you come in through the front door,” Max pointed out. He could feel the touch of Charles’ mind, faint and concerned. Max instinctively allowed Charles’ presence, and it settled in.

“Do you both argue?”

“More than I argue with my wife,” Max said. He smirked at the spark of amusement from Charles. “And twice as difficult to refute. Do you know how annoying it is when the person you are arguing with can see what you’re going to say next?”

“It doesn’t anger you?”

“Anger frightens Magda. I can understand why. I try to control it.” Max folded his legs up beneath him, tilting his head. “Was I so bad a person in your future?” Summers frowned at him until Max was compelled to laugh. “Your approach, talking to me, is quite… I am not so sure of the word, in English. And Magda told me about what you said to her, in the plane.”

“I’m sorry.” Summers looked appalled. “I didn’t realize. In my time, your name was Erik Magnus Lehnsherr, also known as Magneto. You were no longer, well, there were not enough people left for anything more than alliance. But before that, yes. History would not have remembered you as a good man.”

“And do you think I will be the same man now?”

Summers stared at him steadily for a long moment. Max was familiar enough with a telepath’s touch to sense a second, gentler hand. He waited as Summers encountered Charles’ mind, felt around the professor’s curiosity and then withdrew. “No.”

“Then you have done some good. Don’t forget that. I won’t forget how you saved my life twice.” Max grinned. “I don’t need to read minds to know what’s on yours when it’s written clearly on your face, Nathan. Always doubt yourself. But try not to let it consume you.” He stood up, holding out a hand. “You should stay here a while. The children would love to have you over.”

“I have to return to S.H.I.E.L.D.” Summers accepted the hand, however, getting heavily to his feet. 

“At least stay for supper, or my wife will not let me hear the end of it.” 

Summer’s eyes flickered. He smiled at last, wan and wry. “All right.”


	7. Tabula Rasa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Young Nate meets pre-cancer Wade.

Once back in the relative sanity of his seedy apartment, Wade walked in double time to the fridge and got a couple of beers. 

“How old did you say you were again, kid?”

“Seventeen,” The kid said, offended. “Please stop talking to me as though I am a child.” The kid was wearing one of Wade’s spare trenchcoats over his weird-as-fuck armour. The trench was stretched tight over the kid’s broad shoulders, and was too high over the knees.

Wade put one of the beers back in the fridge and checked the fruit juice. Expired. The milk was only marginally on the way there. Still. Nearly expired milk was better than what surprise kids deserved.

The kid accepted the slightly dirty glass of milk with an expression of mixed disgust and curiosity. Wade kicked the fridge shut behind him with the ease of practice and opened his can of beer, drinking deeply. Alcohol always made everything warm and fuzzy. “Okay. Run it by me again.”

“I’m from the future,” the kid said patiently, pressing something lightly on his metallic left arm. Metallic. Left arm. “Professor, analyse contents.”

“Analysing,” A disembodied, sexless voice whispered. Wade took another deep gulp of beer, just in case he was really hallucinating this time. “Search report indicates bacteria and contagion of acceptable levels for this time period. End search report.”

The kid drank. Wade stared, finished his beer, crushed the can, and decided he needed another one. 

A routine job nailing some mafia hitman had gotten Complicated when Wade had been ratted out to said hitman and the target had brought friends. All in all, not unlike a normal day’s work. Wade had evaded the hired guns, and had been busy chasing the target through a set of convenient dark alleys. There’d been a crackle of static that had raised the hair on his skin. A door of… light had opened, traced by fingers of lightning. Through it had stepped a tall kid. Dark brown hair streaked with a thick lock of silver, tied to the back of his neck in a twist of metal. Glowing left eye. Kid had been dressed in weird, skin-hugging dark blue armour. He’d also been carrying the biggest god-damned gun Wade had ever seen. 

The hitman recovered first, opening fire. The bullets had come to a stop before the kid, embedding themselves on an invisible wall. Then Wade had dragged his brain out of its gibbering This-Is-Not-Happening denial and shot the target in the back of his head. The rest of the hired guns arrived, the kid did some Jedi Mind Trick with a wave of his hand, and all of them had collapsed, unconscious. 

After which Wade had invited the kid back for an explanation. Because he was losing his grip on reality and good sense.

“You’re from the future, and you time traveled back to kick some mafia ass?” Wade asked skeptically.

“Negative,” the kid said firmly, “I merely caused them to go to sleep. _You_ shot one of them fatally in the back of his head.”

“Yeah, it’s my job,” Wade said. He kept his tone neutral and his hand near his holster, in case the kid got any funny ideas. 

“As I have ascertained. You are Wade Wilson, mercenary. You prefer to take ‘jobs’ that involve the assassination of underworld or terrorist figures. You will however take any job if none is available and if the payment is sufficient.” The kid’s eye glowed brighter. “Perhaps our meeting was fortunate.”

“You a telepath?” Wade didn’t bother to hide his wariness. “I don’t like people poking about in my brain.”

“I will take your opinion under advisement,” the kid said, without even the hint of a smile. “I have a job for you, Mister Wilson.”

“Yeah?” Wade narrowed his eyes. “What’s your name, kid?”

“You do not usually require your employer’s personal details.”

“I’m making an exception here since you’re underage.”

The kid scowled at him. “Age is no factor to mutual respect. I’ve been part of a war since I could aim a rifle.” 

“That’s very nice, kid.”

“Elements in your tone indicate disbelief.” The kid looked annoyed. “I assure you that what I am saying is true.”

“Exception still stands.” Wade resisted the urge to walk on over and smack the smart-assed kid upside the head. War in the future? Child soldiers? Time travel? He hadn’t had enough alcohol for an increasingly out-of-control day.

“Very well. My name is Nathan Dayspring Askani’son Summers. And I would like to employ you to find my father.”

#

According to Nathan’s mind-bendingly science fiction explanation, agents from the Hitler of the Future were traveling back in time to murder one Scott Summers of mutant persuasion. By doing so, they would alter the future such that Nathan Summers would never be born. And so, said Nathan had come back into the past to try and stop them.

After an hour or so in the kid’s company, Wade vaguely hoped that they were already too late. The kid’s excruciatingly precise speech pattern and I-Am-From-The-Future, I-Know-Everything attitude problem was pissing Wade off. Still, a job was a job, particularly a job for a laser pistol, and Wade was tolerating his new employer with ill grace. 

A honest-to- _Gods_ laser gun. Sweet Jesus.

Wade had suggested that the kid hang back in the apartment and watch television instead of following Wade to meet his contact, but the kid had flat out refused. Now they were both in Weasel’s kitted out basement. The kid looked unimpressed as Weasel fawned over whatever it was in Nathan’s wrist that talked with slightly less emotion than its master did. 

“This is a future computer.” Weasel tried to explain his excitement to Wade. “I can’t even begin to grasp how it’s remotely possible.”

“Get over the fanboy session and start the work,” Wade muttered, slouching into Weasel’s couch and switching on the telly. “Kid wants to find his dad. Take a DNA sample or whatever.” Weasel was a necessary contact rather than a friend, a hacker and a gadgets whiz. Good contact in Wade’s line of work. Didn’t mean that Wade had to like him. 

“Nathan thinks his dad’s about sixteen years of age right now. He won’t be on the system with DNA unless he’s a delinquent. According to Nathan, the dad’s probably just another average high school kid.”

“We got a name, don’t we?” Wade asked.

“Do you know how many hundreds of thousands of people there are called ‘Scott Summers’?” Weasel pointed out. True. 

“Well, just do what I pay you to do,” Wade growled, changing the channel and crossing his boots over the table. “I got a laser pistol to fence to the highest bidder and a smartmouthed kid to hand on to his dad.”

“I am beginning to doubt your efficacy,” the kid had the goddamned nerve to say.

“What are your grandparents’ names?” Weasel asked nervously as Wade turned around to eyeball the brat. “That’d help narrow down the genealogy search.”

“Christopher Summers and Katherine Anne,” Nathan said, “but due to an accident at birth, my father grew up in an orphanage for sixteen years. I don’t know much about my mother.”

“That makes it a little easier anyway.” Weasel sat down at his console, typing quickly. He scanned all three of his screens as he accessed his databases. “Huh. He’s enrolled in a boarding school right now. ‘Xavier’s Institute for Higher Learning’. 1407 Graymalkin Lane, Salem Center, Westchester.” 

“Ah.” Nathan blinked. “I didn’t know that he joined the X-Men so early.” 

“What kind of a weird-ass group name is that?” Wade muttered. Mission almost completed. Great. And Westchester was a day’s drive from here. He just had to endure the kid for a day, and… ugh. There was no way he would be able to get the kid there via a plane. The metal arm would never make it through a scanner. As to a non-commercial flight, nobody owed him that big a favor. Besides, Wade often got sick on small flights. 

“Uncertain,” Nathan said. “My father perished too early in the war to impart any further detail to me.”

The matter-of-fact way that was said got Wade to feel a little like a jerk. Wade tried to push away his guilt, was blindsided by his battered and abused conscience, and exhaled. “What about you and me go and get some lunch, then I’ll pack and drive us to Westchester.”

“Very well.” Hesitation. “I apologize for doubting your ability.” Nathan smiled tentatively.

Well, what did you know. The effect of flattery aside, the kid could be cute.

#

“Nephew?” ‘Nessa asked, with a faint jerk of her head towards Wade’s car. In the front passenger seat, Nathan was sitting ramrod straight. He was frowning at the car radio functions and dressed rather haphazardly in more of Wade’s clothes.

“Nope,” Wade said.

‘Nessa arched an eyebrow even as she philosophically wrapped their enchiladas. “Didn’t know you went for jailbait, Wade. I’m disappointed in you.”

“Hah. No. He’s my employer.” 

“Well, would you think about that,” ‘Nessa said, though her expression softened. 

‘Nessa had been an on-off thing, back when she was still working the streets. One day Wade had been bitten by a huge wave of sentimentality. He took a big cut out of his last paycheck and gave ‘Nessa capital to start a new business. ‘Nessa, surprisingly enough, had taken to it with cheerful determination. Now her diner served the best cheap Mexican this side of town. ‘Nessa had always offered to pay him back. Wade preferred the endless free food and drinks deal. 

“What’s he paying you to do anyway?” ‘Nessa asked. She was always a too curious about what Wade did for her own good. It was partially why things between them had never really worked out.

“Find his dad,” Wade said.

“Found him yet?”

“Yeah.”

“Good news?”

“Dunno.” Wade watched as Nessa packed all the drinks, fries and enchiladas into a paper bag and handed it to him. “Got paid in advance.” 

“If you’re involved, then probably not good news,” ‘Nessa said. She grinned as he straightened up from the counter. “Try not to jump his cute underage bones on the way, would you?”

“He’s legal, woman,” Wade said automatically. He flushed when his brain caught up with his mouth and growled, “Also, he is an absolute pain in the neck.” 

“So long as it’s the neck and not the ass,” ‘Neena retorted cheerfully. Wade glared at her in mock anger before retreating to his battered Toyota. 

Inside the car, Nathan looked unimpressed. “We are wasting time.”

“Yeah? I need food to operate, boss. Take your half and try not to get anything on the car.” Wade started up the engine and pulled out of the diner’s driveway. “Going to be a long drive to Westchester.”

“Is there no other method of transportation?” Nathan, however, was inspecting the paper bag, the computer embedded in his metal wrist running a pale blue light over the contents. 

“Levels of contagion and bacteria acceptable to this time period. End search report.”

“And will you turn that off? It’s killing my appetite.”

“Professor cannot be ‘turned off’,” Nathan said flatly, as he cautiously pulled out a wrapped enchilada. “What’s this?”

“Something you probably haven’t tried before. Try it. You’d like it.”

“Your reasoning is unsound,” Nathan said. He unwrapped it carefully. “Professor.”

“Trace elements indicate beef, carbon, wheat, salt, sugar, tomato, maize, lettuce, onion, and the faint poison popular to and known in the pre-Apocalyptic era as ‘chilli’.” 

“ _Poison?_ ”

“Won’t kill you, kid.” Wade glared at the blinking computer for a moment before turning his eyes back to the road. “Makes food taste better.” 

“Affirmative. The poison is too mild to cause much bodily dysfunction when synthesized. In the pre-Apocalyptic era it was commonly used by several cultures as a spice,” Professor said. 

Dubiously, Nathan took a bite. He blinked, chewing. 

Wade cranked up the radio to Queen as Nathan ate. “Good?” Wade asked.

“Surprisingly, yes.”

“Great! And to answer your first question, no, I can’t get you on any faster sorts of transportation, because you have no I.D. of any sort and you’re unlikely to get through a scanner.”

“I’m a telepath,” Nathan reminded him. “Identification papers would not be required.”

“And how would you mind tap computers, huh?”

“Professor would be able to interface with any local computers, even those of your era’s level.” 

Ah. He hadn’t thought of that one. “What about money?”

“You appear to have a sufficiency,” Nathan said complacently. “The airport please, Mister Wilson.” 

“Oh, fuck you.” The laser gun had better sell for something good.

#

Alone with Professor Xavier in the man’s considerably intimidating, mahogany-and-books-and-goddamn-carpet study, Wade’s Great Sudden Plan to Get The Kid a Damn Life suddenly felt slightly less inspired. Particularly under Xavier’s penetrating stare.

Nathan had said that they were shielded.

“Your ‘nephew’ is trained, but unfortunately, not as well as he believes,” Xavier said.

…Ah well. “I just thought if he had the chance to—”

“—have an actual childhood it would improve his disposition?” Damn, Wade hated telepaths sometimes. “I agree. From what I’ve seen of Nathan’s thoughts, he needs a proper home. One where he can learn to interact with others of his age without the constant threat of war.”

Wade had actually intended to end his sentence with ‘get laid’, but he supposed that was somewhat better. En-route to the Westchester mansion, Wade had talked Nathan into agreeing that if he a) pretended to be just another normalish mutant kid, which meant b) no future weapons or computers in sight, i.e. rifle in Wade’s very safe keeping, it would mean c) he could get close to his dad and The Bad Guys would never see it coming. 

Well actually, Nathan had not agreed to (b), which was why the rifle was in a suitable duffel bag stolen from the baggage carousel (stupidest idea ever from an air port, really). Nathan _had_ reluctantly agreed to an interim explanatory relationship, being that he was a) an orphan and b) Wade was his uncle. Wade had considered using his imaginary authority to declare that Nathan was allergic to sugar.

“Right. I’m going to leave him in your real capable hands, and go get a date with a weapons fence,” Wade said. Day was looking up.

Wade made it to the gate before Nathan caught up with him, the kid somehow managing to look out of breath even while floating. “You’re leaving?”

“’Course. Mission accomplished. Your dad is younger than you right now, by the way. That’s seriously fucked up.”

“I…” Nathan cut himself of, nibbling at his lower lip. “It is strange. I know that an attack should be coming, but not when.”

“Meaning anytime from now and forever?”

“I am not privy to their schedule.”

“Can’t you get back and find out?”

“Time travel is still experimental.”

“Meaning you’re stuck in the past and you have no goddamned idea when the assassins are going to show.” And Wade had thought that the kid was smart. “By the way, did you tell anyone when you did the Back to the Future gig?”

“No. Time was of the essence and…” Nathan hesitated under Wade’s stare and flushed. “No.”

“Wow,” Wade said, rolling his eyes. “So what if you had ended up, I don’t know, at the birth of goddamned Christ? How the hell are you going to get back?”

The kid looked all of his age now. “I… I do not know.”

Wade felt himself softening. Damn this sudden attack of conscience. “Okay. Here’s what I can do. Weasel can get in touch with some geniuses who might have some way to get around the whole Stuck in the Past problem you have here. In the meantime, I don’t know. Train up all the kids here to handle future assassins?”

“I don’t know how to contact you.” Nathan’s eyes were asking for a hell lot more than what was coming out of his mouth, now that the Adrenaline Rush to Find Dad had died down. _I’m alone here, I don’t know anyone, please stay._ All the swagger and self-assurance aside, Nathan was really only seventeen.

Kid really knew how to work the puppy eyes.

Damnit.

“I’ll rent someplace in town. You can drop by now and then when you don’t feel up to sticking close to your dad. This won’t,” Wade added, as Nathan brightened visibly, “come cheap.”

Nathan’s face fell. With obvious reluctance, he made as though to shrug off the duffel bag. “This was my father’s.”

Oh hell. “Don’t bother, I’ll be glutting the market for laser guns as it is,” Wade said, hoping his grin didn’t look too sickly. His sense of self-profit was gagging and thrashing against the smugness of his conscience. “You just owe me, kid.”

“I will remember,” Nathan said.

#

One and a half weeks into babysitting ‘Dad’ and Nathan was going stir crazy. He was over at Wade’s rented apartment regularly, always awkward for imposing. Nathan was also eternally surprised that Wade’s favorite hobby appeared to be watching television. He was also forever surprised that Wade’s job continued to involve killing people for cash. The auction of just one of the guns had just made Wade comfortably well off for a while, but it didn’t mean he was going to stop taking jobs when he was playing pretend uncle.

Today Wade was bandaging Nathan’s flesh arm. The lanky kid sat stiffly on the sofa with Wade in a loose-limbed sprawl beside him, first aid kit between them. “Mansion doesn’t have a doctor?” Wade asked.

“Doctor McCoy is quite competent,” Nathan said automatically. He flushed and thinned his lips. Huh. Cute. 

Wade smirked. “So you’d rather do some really patchy self-aid and then drag your sorry ass over here?” The Future Terminators had appeared, if somewhat staggered in location and time. So far none of them had gotten lucky on ‘Dad’. Nathan had placed a network of sensors in Westchester that alerted him whenever some sort of Glitch in the Fabric of Time was opening or some sort of bull like that. Less Wade knew about the technological workings of the impossible the better.

“I don’t want the others to worry.” When Nathan was lying between his teeth, he’d look everywhere but Wade’s eyes. Cute. 

“Sure, sure.” Wade put enough eloquent disbelief in his tone to show that he wasn’t buying it. He patted the patched up arm sharply enough for Nathan to wince. “Like it ain’t obvious when you walk back into there with your arm wrapped up and your shirt in shreds. Fell down the stairs, eh?”

“I will communicate a plausible explanation.” 

“Yeah, you do that. Can’t have you crashing here all the time. Keeps me from bringing girls home.” Wade carefully packed up the kit even as Nathan stiffened. “What? Didn’t they give you the sex talk in the future?”

“I understand the mechanics—”

“You’re a virgin?” Wade asked. He chuckled as Nathan reddened. “You’re a virgin. Good fucking God. And you’re seventeen. The future must really suck balls and fucking whistles.”

“This is not a matter of relevance or amusement,” Nathan said sharply. Wade clapped him heavily on the back. 

“Hey, kid, nothing to feel embarrassed about. Maybe you’re not interested in doing the tango with anyone, in which case sure. You do you. But if you _are_ , the place where you’re shacked up has lots of hot boys and girls, doesn’t it? There was a really hot one. Girl with red hair, Barbie hips.”

“Technically,” Nathan’s tone was icy, “Miss Jean Grey would be my mother.” 

Awkward.

“Also,” Nathan added primly, “I don’t think you actually ‘bring girls home’.”

“Yeah? Could it be because of the presence of seventeen-year-old annoying kids?”

“Not ever since you’ve moved in here. Or,” Nathan said, with a little quirk to his lip, “at your last apartment. Professor conducted a DNA search on the premises as a usual precautionary protocol.”

True. Wade wasn’t in the habit of bringing strangers back with him. Home was less a living place than a bolthole, usually one of many, well stocked with supplies. Self-respecting mercenaries didn’t often invite people to their boltholes. 

“Should I be flattered?” Nathan asked. 

Bloody telepathic brats. “I could smell a job coming,” Wade said. He was lying, and Nathan had to know that. The kid merely inclined his head. Nathan 1, Wade 1, score even. “And if you’re poking around in here,” Wade tapped at his head, “feel free to pick up some pointers on getting laid.”

Nathan blanched. Nathan 1, Wade 2. “No thank you.”

“So why do you keep hanging out here? Can’t be the television.” Wade jerked a thumb in the direction of the screen, which was showing some sort of terrible soap opera rerun. 

“It’s comfortable not having to keep up appearances,” Nathan said honestly. He looked down at his hands and fingering his bandaged arm. Didn’t look like he was leaving anytime soon. 

Snorting, Wade sprawled lower on the couch. Changed the channel. “You want to crash here, make yourself useful. Fetch me a beer.”

#

What with the kid doing his best to go up against the world by himself, Wade knew he would get The Call sooner or later. He just wished that he wasn’t in the middle of targeting a mark down the sights of a rifle in a sniper’s nest in Austin when The Call did arrive. He nearly shoots himself in the foot when he felt the light touch on his mind.

 _Mister Wilson,_ Charles Xavier could sound so formal even when he was a disembodied, polite voice in Wade’s head. _Nathan needs you._

 _He’s a big boy_ , Wade responded absently, sighting down again. 

The sniper’s nest was in an old apartment block, rented for a week and stocked with canned supplies. It smelled of processed tuna and instant ramen. The chair he sat on by the window was rickety, creaking if he even shifted his weight. He had a discreet pouch of ammunition on his lap. Half a block away, the big man with bodyguards was getting closer, waddling towards a French café. There was a man out front at the sidewalk, tailored trouser legs crossed. Black attaché case on his lap. Once they made the exchange—

 _Are you killing someone?_ Xavier actually sounded shocked. Seriously, hadn’t the man taken a good look at his head the last time?

 _No, I’m giving him a fucking manicure,_ Wade snapped back. _Give me fifteen minutes, then you can read me Nathan’s report card, okay?_

 _Nathan has been badly injured,_ Xavier retorted, reproachfully. _I just felt that you would like to know._

The touch on his mind left, leaving Wade feeling like the world’s ultimate jerk. Muttering darkly to himself, Wade stared sullenly down the sights of his rifle. It wasn’t like the kid hadn’t expected it. Wade had patched him up often enough now and then over the year. It was Nathan’s own damn fault for deciding not to let anyone else get involved, despite advice from Yours Truly. Nathan had it coming.

As long as it didn’t obstruct the kid’s ability to fetch beer/newspapers/slippers—

Okay. So Wade was the world’s ultimate jerk. Too fucking bad. It wasn’t like the kid would have expected much more of Wade, right? They had an arrangement. Hell, Xavier himself knew that Wade wasn’t really Nathan’s uncle anyway. And Wade was in the middle of a paying job… and he must have eaten something disagreeable this morning. Wade’s stomach felt sour, twisting.

Goddamn Xavier.

Wade swallowed grimly. He tightened his hands on the trigger, clammy and cold. The minutes inched past, his battered conscience whining and bitching away. The mark finally got into position. Time for the money shot.

Swearing to himself in German, and then in French, Wade ignored the faint screams from the street. He packed up in double time and forced himself not to run. So he was a goddamned bastard, but he was sure as hell going to be a professional one. Three blocks, one change of clothes and one bolthole away, gear safely stashed, Wade hailed a cab to the airport, heart in his mouth.

#

“It looks worse than it does.” Hank McCoy turned out to be a tall, quiet kid with dark hair. Wade stared at the bandaged, burned frame on the bed. On Nathan’s metallic arm, the cube computer was hooked up to a feed and humming gently. “He’ll make a recovery. It’ll just be slow.”

“What happened to the bastards who did this?”

“He got them. He was protecting Scott,” McCoy said. He checked something on the set of consoles wired up to the sickbed. The Mansion was weirdly kitted out in cutting-edge medical technology. With an oxygen mask and dressed in hospital blues, Nathan looked awfully young and pale. Wade pulled up the spare chair and sat down, gingerly picking up Nathan’s right hand. Some sick fucker had stepped on the fingers, breaking three. Rage curled ugly and hot under his throat. Wade exhaled harshly. He was going to have to go out, maybe shoot some squirrels—

A faint touch on his mind made him sit back down as he half-rose from his chair. Relief. Recognition. Affection. Avoiding the splints, Wade squeezed Nathan’s palm in assurance. He settled back in the chair to read a magazine from the selection from the bedside table. McCoy slipped quietly out of the room, closing the door behind him.

“You’re a brat who’s way out of his depth,” Wade told Nathan’s unconscious form, flipping a page. Hm. Cosmo. He’d never admit it, but Wade had a secret love of women’s magazines. They were great. Especially the bits about tips for improving people’s sex lives. “Don’t even know if they taught you how to fight properly wherever you learned.”

The faint touch seemed amused. Felt too weak for words. “Yeah, yeah, so funny getting your arse handed to you. I hope one of the twinkly kids didn’t have to save you.” Curiosity. “You know, one of those kids who have the My Little Pony abilities. Yeah. At least a quarter of the kids here. Your blue glowy shield and glowy eye probably fit the hell right in.

“Though have you even slept with anyone yet? It’s a year, there are some really hot people in here. Excepting, just in case you were wondering, you-know-who. I’m sure it won’t fuck the continuity or whatever you’re concerned about—”

A faint, fuzzy flash of a daydream slipped through from the faint link. It was so brief that Wade almost missed it as it trickled away into a warm afterimage. Startled into shocked silence, Wade nearly dropped the magazine. He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again as the link dropped off. Nathan dozed.

Wade stared at the magazine on his knees for a long time, the silence punctuated only by hums from the machines Nathan was hooked up to.

What. The Fuck.

 _All right, Professor. I’m listening._ Wade purposefully turned over a page, though he merely glared at the text. _How much did you know?_

 _Not much,_ Xavier responded. _Until he started projecting during surgery._

 _Who else knows?_ Wade clenched his teeth tightly. _God, sometimes he hated mind readers._

 _Only the telepaths._

So, just the Professor and Nathan’s mom. _How much did they—_

 _Jean’s trying to get over the shock that she is effectively his mother._ The Professor felt amused.

Oh well, so much for amusing if awkward secrets. 

_But she has not told Scott,_ the Professor told him.

 _Well, make sure she doesn’t,_ Wade retorted. Nate had fed Wade a daydream of himself kissing someone on a grassy meadow with no one else in sight. The person being kissed sure as hell wasn’t any X-kid at all. Sure as hell looked an awful lot like the man Wade saw whenever he looked in a mirror. _And keep this to yourself._ It was an awkward kiss. As though Nathan had only ever observed the process, but hadn’t actually had to experience the mechanics up close.

If Wade was into jailbait, it would have been… cute. 

_You’re not so poor a person as you believe,_ Xavier responded, somewhat predictably for someone who had invested his familial fortune into teaching twinkly kids to Save and Support kittens. Or whatever it was they did here. Someone like that had to only see the best in people. 

Wade found himself reaching out, gently pressing fingertips to the back of Nathan’s bandaged palm. He shook his head and turned back to the magazine. Wade sure as hell wasn’t being paid to do better. Under that conclusion, his conscience squirmed, but he ignored it.

#

Three days later, Wade was drinking at the Hellhouse with Weasel when he felt someone else bumble into his brain, this time with somewhat less subtlety. _YES?_ he projected.

The intruder drew back, as though startled. _How did you…?_

Woman’s voice. Huh. _I know lots of telepaths._ Wade wiped off his mouth, glancing around discreetly. _Some of them are even hot. Which one of them are you?_

_Jean Grey._

_Ah, one of the hot ones then,_ Wade smirked. _What can I do for you, kid?_

 _Nathan isn’t even out of the infirmary yet_ , Jean Grey told him disapprovingly. _Why did you leave?_

 _I’m not his mother. I think you are… well, technically… so if you want to go and kiss his boo-boos, you’re more than goddamned welcome._ Wade told her snidely. _Man’s got to work, kid. Can’t all be living off someone’s fortune._

_You’re in a pub._

_That’s what you think._ Across at his booth, Patch was taking calls and printouts from his fax, collating jobs to match them up with the mercs, assassins and miscellaneous lowlifes who frequented his gig. 

_You get ‘jobs’ here?_ Grey made the word sound interchangeable with ‘STD’.

 _What, did you think mercs advertise on the internet?_ Wade shot back, amused at Grey’s pulse of horror. _So, how’s Nathan?_

_Recovering._

_See. ‘M not needed._ Wade did, however, feel slightly relieved. _Kid’s a big kid. He can look after himself and regrow epidermal tissue without Daddy’s help. Did you find out who is actually his daddy, by the way?_

_Yes. Awkward pause. I, uh, I didn’t even really think of Scott that way. I mean, I liked him, but he’s so… serious._

Oh. Haha. An inadvertent burst of telepathy might just have screwed Nathan over far worse than the Attack of the Future Daleks. _Uhh… you might want to, say, keep your options open_.

 _I will_. Grey sounded amused. _Why don’t you come back? He misses you._

 _Don’t start with the guilt trips, miss. Patch put the word out that there’s a Panama job paying in the seven figures._ Wade downed his beer viciously. _If you can match that, I might consider taking over the boo-boo kissing. Up until then, get out of my head, or I’ll start with the naked pictures._

There was a long pause, then, Grey replied, _How much money are we talking about here?_

 _You’re not going to make me believe you have it. ‘Cos that’s cheating._

_I’m a telepath, Mister Wilson._ Grey retorted frostily. _I can get the money._

 _And you’re going to steal me seven million dollars so I’ll babysit your son?_ Huh. The girl had balls.

_If it comes to that. You really mean the world to him._

_Thanks, but no thanks_. At Grey’s projection of surprise, Wade smirked. _You think he’ll appreciate that? Hell, Xavier would probably expel you. And it looks like all of you brats need his school. Keep your nose clean. And you might want to leave off on the motherly instinct until you’re older. The best thing you could do is to have The Talk with Nathan once he’s back._

_The Talk? You mean, about his reticence on the attackers?_

_No, I mean about how getting laid is an important aspect of a healthy adolescence._ Wade projected some helpful images.

 _You’re disgusting, Mister Wilson._ Grey chuckled.

 _Thanks._ Wade felt Grey’s presence withdraw, just in time for Patch to come up to the counter with his sales pitch. Good timing. His hands were beginning to itch.

#

Wade was just done with his second job since Grey’s attempted pep-talk, deep in the Congo when a familiar blue-outlined kid floated down from the sky. “I hope you brought some hotdogs, kid.”

“No hotdogs for miles,” Nathan looked somewhat better. Spandex was good at covering up bandages. 

Wade preferred leather and kevlar himself. Looked cooler. Wade did keep his vest sleeveless for ease of combat. Even if Wade was regretting it right now. Congo mosquitoes were pretty damned immune to the gel he’d bought as a precaution, and Wade sure as hell hoped his malaria vaccine was working.

“Aren’t you pretty far from Daddy?” Wade asked.

Nathan had the grace to follow him on foot instead of floating after him like a douchebag. “I am confident that he will remain prepared for any eventuality.”

“You mean you finally fessed up to everyone and now they’re working together, so you can take holidays.”

“In essence,” Nathan said wryly. “Do you want me to fly us back?”

“And miss the stewardesses pretending that they love their job while I ask them for whisky every ten minutes? Hell no. You can fly back home now. Mommy will probably worry.” Wade made a shooing gesture.

“You haven’t been around for a while.” Kid was far too persistent and straightforward for his own good. “I was concerned.”

“Well, I’m fine. So you can shove off.” Wade felt guilty about being blunt, but he wasn’t interested in saving Nathan’s feelings. Kid was too damn young. Hell, he probably didn’t understand—

“I do, Wade.”

—that Wade was trouble in all senses of the word—

“You’re not.”

—and, in any case, NOT INTERESTED.

“Or that,” Nathan said. He sounded hesitant.

“Yeah? Get the fuck out of my head, kid.”

“You’re thinking very loudly.” Nathan said. 

“Blue spandex is totally not your color.”

“Now you’re changing the subject. Here.” Nathan leant forward. Pressed his lips hard against Wade’s.

What? WHAT?

 _Jean told me to do it,_ Nathan’s voice responded, slightly confused. _She said it’s customary._

Ohhh… Little Miss Red was in such deep shit. Wade pushed Nathan back sharply. He grimaced at the look of surprised hurt on the kid’s face. “They, uh, they don’t kiss in the future anymore?”

“I had not so observed.”

“Wow. Remind me not to go to the future.”

“Very well,” Nathan said, so seriously that Wade almost rolled his eyes. “Did I do that right?”

“Do what?”

“The custom.”

“Okay. Firstly, there’s a… a… protocol before you actually start kissing someone, and usually, it’s not meant to be a shock.” Wade said flatly. “You could get in actual legal trouble for that kinda shit. Look, you’ve been living at Xavier’s for months, and it’s sort of like a co-ed frat house. Don’t tell me you didn’t observe anything.”

“I was usually busy securing the perimeter.”

“O-kay.” For such a nice kid with a supercomputer affixed to his arm, Nathan could be so dense. “And you’ve decided to zero in on an amoral old mercenary instead of all those kids your age living Xavier’s dream of humans and mutants holding hands on the bloody mountain-top because…?”

“Is it usually meant to be rational?” Nathan had the bloody balls to grin. “Jean told me it is not. And besides, I agree with Xavier. You’re not so poor a person as you think.”

“Don’t you see a problem in your technical-mom trying to set you up with someone?”

That cute, confused look again. “No?”

“You’re such a feeb, kid,” Wade pinched at the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Let’s have some ground rules, if you want to start this crazy idea. Number one, you don’t read my mind unless I give you permission. Savvy?”

“Yes.”

“Number two, because I am pretty sure you don’t know what you’re doing, we are taking this slow. Protocol,” Wade told him. “Dates. Hanging out. It’ll give you a lot of time to realize you’re being a dweeb.”

“So you’re not rejecting the proposition right off the start,” Nathan had a disturbing tendency to move straight through to the point. And he was right. Maybe because it was a little like kicking a spaniel, or maybe because the kid was really cute. Maybe because Nathan had taken a good long look in Wade’s head and liked what he saw.

Still, Wade didn’t have to be nice about it. “Obviously. Number three, don’t pull a stunt like this again. If I want to contact you, I’ll contact you. Otherwise, you can use a phone.”

“You don’t have a cell phone.”

“I’ll get one,” Wade retorted dismissively. It was better than glowing brats showing up out of nowhere and scaring the local wildlife. “Okay?”

“Don’t I get to put some ground rules of my own?”

“No. Well, fine. What do you want?”

“Don’t drop out of sight without at least telling me how long you’ll be gone.”

“You can find out.”

“It’s not the same.” Nathan folded his arms. “And I care, Wade.”

“I think I preferred it when you called me Mister Wilson,” Wade muttered. “All right.”

“Deal.”

#

Three months, eight movies, three baseball games, the strange lack of any Evil Future Daleks and a monster truck rally after, Wade watched the furniture in his bedroom levitate unevenly with a sense of fascinated horror whenever he so much as put a palm on Nathan’s cock. “Kid.”

“Uhh… uhh… trying,” Nathan panted, blushing pink.

“We’ve tried this ‘bout five times.”

“I know,” Nathan curled fingers into the bed and yelped when Wade philosophically wrapped his tongue around the swollen head. “Ohh…” The dresser thumped heavily against the ceiling. Wade winced.

“I haven’t even started.” This was pretty funny, even though the place wasn’t insured. Wade had been playing off between dying from blue balls or finally popping Nathan’s cherry and risking severe property damage. “Don’t tell me we’re only going to be able to do it if you’re wearing inhibitors. And since your TK is holding the virus in check, that means basically never.”

“Trying,” Nathan grit his teeth. The furniture lowered almost all the way to the floor, only to jerk upwards again when Wade sucked him in a couple of inches. “Wade!”

 _I’m pretty sure I have some ordinance in them cupboards._ Wade hoped it wasn’t the grenades. _Can you take this or not?_ Wade stroked his tongue over the underside of the throbbing flesh in his mouth. Nathan whined, twisting vainly in Wade’s grip over his hips. 

“More,” Nathan whispered, his head falling back against the pillows. “Please.”

 _Maybe it was a bad idea to do this in my place._ Wade complied, swallowing Nathan to the root. Nathan cried out. Wade choked and pulled back, coughing. Hot fluid had spurted too deep into his throat. He cupped the rest hastily in his palm.

“Jesus. Warn a guy,” Wade told him.

Nathan looked profoundly embarrassed. He was gasping for breath and deliciously boneless. Furniture was back to the pull of gravity. “S-sorry.”

Oh. Hell, that was hot. Grinning, Wade leaned down for a kiss, purring when Nathan licked up into his mouth. This was so wrong, but hell, it was hot. He jacked himself off against Nathan’s hip, growling softly when shaky fingers slipped down to help him. Wasn’t long before he painted a stripe of his own over his lover’s belly. “Need to work on that too.”

“Sure,” Nathan said sleepily. Wade curled up on the bed and Nathan snuggled closer. God. The saccharine level of this particular ending was going to rot his teeth.

“Wade?”

“Yeah?”

“Stop thinking.” Lips pressed against his collarbone. “S’loud.”

“You’re a teenager. Aren’t you usually up for round two by now?”

“Maybe in half an hour.”

Wade grinned. There were definitely certain advantages to this job after all.


	8. Tyr's Favour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: High Fantasy AU. 
> 
> Forgotten Realms D&D crossover. This was written way before 5th Edition D&D, so some of the references might seem weird to anyone who didn't play 3rd Ed. You don't however need to have played D&D or read FR to understand it (I think!).

Murder found him quickly under the bricked-over sky of the Muzad. The light was greasy and flickering from the rusted torch holders set high on the stone pilings, just a few strides away from a stairway deeper down into the dark. The stacked pilings threw a deep shadow over the assassin who held a knife to his ribs, the edge inserted between a chink of his armour. Nathan froze. There was a soft bark of laughter behind him.

“Still doing the work of the Maimed God, Paladin Dayspring?”

Nathan breathed out. The dagger was withdrawn, the sting in his ribs ignored. He knew enough of his companion not to turn. “Aye. And you? I thought you a citizen of the Trade Ward still.” Nathan had tried to seek him out, braving even the drunken, debauched revelry of several taverns.

“I got a better offer. It’s been a long five years since you were last here, Paladin. You do what you need to stay alive.”

“Wade.” Nathan tried to turn around but the blade was back, digging harder against his flesh. Nathan hesitated. The dagger lingered a moment longer before withdrawing. 

“En Sabah Nur welcomes you to the Muzhahajaarnadah, Paladin Dayspring of the Knights of Holy Judgment of Tyr. If you seek no trouble.”

Nathan concentrated. He blinked when he couldn’t touch Wade’s mind. Couldn’t even sense it. “Wade, your mind.”

“It’s been a long five years,” Wade said. His voice was brittle. “Just me, the city, and my one-dee-four dagger.” 

“Your what?” Nathan turned quickly. Wade was no longer in the alcove of shadow. There was a sharp bark of laughter behind him, then behind him again as he whirled. “Wade, are you ill?”

“I’ve had a few epiphanies,” Wade said, tiring of his game. He was lounging beneath a torch, arms folded. 

Nate could only stare. Where Wade had once enjoyed wearing form-fitting leather armor that displayed his muscular arms, his armor now covered every inch of his skin in overlapping plates. The leather was dyed a dark red and black, slipping into gloves and high bucket boots with ample cuffs. The dagger had been secreted back into its sheath at Wade’s belt, alongside worn pouches. At the assassin’s back were the only things Nathan recognised—Wade’s crossed katanas with their worn hilts.

“Epiphanies?” 

“Consumptive diseases do that to you.” The leather over Wade’s face was thin enough that the hard edge of the assassin’s smile was visible. “You don’t need to look like that. Water under the bridge, separate paths, different lives. I think we’ve had this conversation. If you’re smart, Paladin, you’d stay away from the Muzad. Knife in your ribs won’t be so friendly from other people. Lots of people don’t like psionists.”

“En Sabah Nur sent you here to tell me that?” Nathan asked warily. There was a deep current of bitterness to Wade’s tone that had not been there five years ago, when Nathan was a fresh Knight of the Order and Calimport had been a stopover on his way to Waterdeep. 

“Are you here for him?” The question was playful, but Nathan didn’t miss the bunching tension in Wade’s shoulders. “While I often bite the hand that feeds me, I take a fairly dim view of other people doing it at the same time. Especially ninth level Paladins invested heavily in plate armor, if you get what I mean.”

“Seventh level?” Wade was babbling. What Nathan could feel of the edges of his shadowy mind was chaotic. “When we parted, I thought it was amicable.”

“Could’ve been.” Wade inclined his head. “Don’t blame you for going, if that is what you mean. But what with the current problems Up There in Calimport, can’t blame a man for being wary when a Knight of the Holy Judgment shows up to the Muzad.”

“I am here on business,” Nathan said patiently, “and I have no ill intentions at present towards En Sabah Nur, as much as his notoriety precedes him.”

“Oh.” Wade looked disappointed. “Well. In that case, you still want to go down there?”

“Aye, I did say I have business.”

“Knife in your ribs might be the least you might get. Your sort isn’t welcome here.”

“I will take that chance.”

“You’re as stubborn as ever,” Wade said, exasperated. He fished in a pouch. It was a curved bone claw about the length of Wade’s forefinger. A simple metal thong had been punched through the broad tip. Etched over the flat of the claw was a perfect circle bisected by a line. “Here.”

When Nathan hesitated, Wade scowled. “It isn’t magical or cursed.”

“I can sense that. Why are you giving this to me?”

“Nobody gave you anything before? Must have been one sad childhood.” Wade pressed it into his palm impatiently. “Wear that in the Muzad and maybe you’ll come out alive and with almost all of your bits.”

“I don’t need protection.”

“Call it life insurance.” Wade tipped a mocking bow. “Until after Dark, Paladin Dayspring. Then you’re fair game as anyone else.” 

“You are not coming?”

“I have business up above.” The assassin’s nonchalant shrug was a clear indication of what manner such ‘business’ would take. Nathan stiffened disapprovingly. Wade sniffed. “Some people have to make an honest living.”

“Honesty is hardly a factor in what you do.”

“Yeah? And that’s why a follower of Tyr is still talking to me?” Wade’s taunt didn’t have much bite. Nathan had asked himself the same question intermittently over the five years he had been gone. None so loudly as now. “What really brought you to Calimport, Dayspring?”

Something in Wade’s too-casual slouch told Nathan what the assassin wanted to hear. Unfortunately, as a follower of the Maimed God, he could speak only truth. “A vision.”

Wade looked startled for a moment, then the sneer was there, under the thin leather. “Sword or hammer?”

“Hammer,” Nathan said. It had been the best and worst revelation of his life.

“I suppose congratulations are in order?” Nathan supposed he wasn’t surprised that Wade was privy to private information from the followers of Tyr. Calimport was a trader’s city. Sold goods and information alike. 

“I have not yet joined the Grimjaws.” The most select order from the knights of Tyr, the Hammers of Grimjaws were picked only from the ranks of the Knights of Holy Judgment and the Knights of the Merciful Sword. They had to receive a vision from Tyr himself of the Maimed God’s warhammer. The hammer he had seen, but behind it was something that should not have been. Something impossible. En Sabah Nur bestriding Toril, with destruction and death in his wake.

“No? Out of membership cards, were they?”

“I have not disclosed my vision.” It was not uncommon for Tyr to send different visions altogether, directing His followers on other errands. “In due time.” He inclined his head politely. “I wish we could have met again under fairer circumstances.”

“Hey,” Wade was fast. The assassin was at Nathan’s side before he could flinch. Wade patted his arm. “When you’re done with the Muzad, and if you’re still alive, drinks on me in the Trade Ward. Trident’s Rest.”

Wade slipped back into the darkness as Nathan started to respond. Alone. Nathan sighed. He turned towards the yawn of the stairway to the depths below, tying the leather thong with its claw’s pendant around his neck.

#

An hour and a half passed in a crawl, with stone ceiling high over his head and a motley selection of humanity in a sluggish stream around him. There were adventurers in mail and leather and plate, common citizens in colourful kufis, tunics, and hijabs. Around them all was the cloying scents of grease, oils, human waste, stale air, cloves, and cinnamon. Occasionally, passers-by would look him over, tracing the thick lines of his storm-gray plate armor, the fitted greaves under his shoulder plates and the mark of Tyr emblazoned over his surcoat, the broadsword on his back. They would frown, catch sight of the claw necklace, and turn away again.

Curious. 

Nathan walked aimlessly, not knowing what he sought. Tyr had brought him here to the Muzad. He considered visiting the Temple of Old Night, but Nathan rather doubted that Tyr intended to send just one Paladin against one of Shar’s strongholds. Besides, Calimport was polytheistic. As far as Nathan understood, the Maimed God had no interest in this city. 

Uncomfortably warm and sweating from the press of bodies, Wade’s offer to meet at the Trident’s Rest grew more attractive by the minute. Jostled by an old lady with a jar on her head, then elbowed by a young boy holding a goat in his arms, Nathan huffed out a long breath, sent a silent prayer to Tyr for patience, and began to turn—

—only to hesitate, as something misted into the edges of his vision. 

Nathan found himself face to face with a thin person in gray robes so thick that he could not make out from the hunched frame if he faced a man or a woman. Around them, the passers-by began to eddy away, blank-faced. Nathan and his visitor were a rock that split a stream. The gray-robed figure beckoned silently. 

“A Gray Caller,” Nathan said. He had thought this a mere urban myth. It had sounded facetious when he had first heard of it in the Temple of Tyr within Neverwinter. 

The gray-robed figure nodded again. They began to walk through the crowds, slanting towards an alley set between stone pilings that Nathan was sure he had not observed before. Nathan hurried after the Caller as the stream of humanity around him began to close over the eddy. Another stinking alley, then one choked with the fragrance of cumin and cloves. Through an abandoned terrace home piled with refuse and the pitched whispers of rats. Over to a courtyard lined with the terrace houses long rotted into partial collapse and unstable floors. The Caller faded into mist.

Stalls had been set up in neat lines down the centre of the courtyard and on its boundaries, heavily laden with all manner of grilled meat and soups, alcohol, glassware, thick candles, incense, sheer fabrics, rolled tapestries, twitching carpets, bows, blades, fletched arrows and hammers, shields and suits of armor, scarves and dresses and tunics, fluttering animals in cages and tanks. It was a riot of life and thrumming colors and the sale of souls and secrets. The Dark Bazaar traded heavily in magic and knowledge. Dazed, Nathan took one step, then another. 

To his right, its back to him, a tanarri demon and a succubus chuckled in hissing laughter as they spoke to an elf robed in runes and fur. Nathan’s hand twitched up towards the hilt of his sword.

“Easy, Paladin.” A deep voice spoke behind him, not without humor, “Violence rescinds your invitation.”

Nathan turned. The speaker was an impossibly tall man, a head taller than he, gloved and hooded in a red cloak so dark that it was nearly black.

Over the stranger’s mouth was drawn another cloth, hiding all but his eyes. The eyes in question were an unsettling red. The stranger smelled of sorcery and the shadows of the arcane.

“Your name, sir?” Nathan asked.

“Ask for no secrets unless you are prepared to trade another of equal value. Names in a marketplace of magic and secrets have value,” the stranger said.

“I thank you for your lesson,” Nathan said politely. He started towards the bazaar, trying his best to ignore the demonfolk present. People of various races thronged the stores, trading in shouts and lowered voices. Nathan inspected a glass bird that sang in a pewter cage, a clockwork man, and a shimmering length of cloth with patterns that curled lazily into ever-shifting shapes. At a stall of concave mirrors, Nathan realized belatedly that the stranger was following him. A hard glance only afforded him a benign stare from bright red eyes.

“Why are you dogging my steps?” Nathan asked.

“Many do so, O servant of Tyr in the stronghold of Shar. I am merely doing so visibly.” The cloth mask quirked in a hard curve of humour. It reminded Nathan of Wade. Nathan was taken aback by the faint jolt of fondness the comparison inspired. Calimport stood heavily upon the senses.

“If you mean to have me killed…” Nathan trailed off, wary.

“Then I would have instructed my assassin to do so in the Upper Muzad,” the stranger said urbanely. “Instead, it seems fate’s will that we trade, in this appropriate setting. Why else would the Callers have sought us both out?”

En Sabah Nur. Nathan grit his teeth against instinctive violence. He did not have the right to pass judgment. “What have you done with Wade?” Nathan demanded. He grit his teeth. That hadn’t been the question Nathan had wanted to ask.

En Sabah Nur tilted his head. “Specify.”

“He’s different. Distracted. His speech was delirious.”

“Wade was afflicted with the wasting disease,” En Sabah Nur said. They walked behind the stalls into a recess formed from a collapsing wall shored up by another wall and a crumbling bookcase, away from the noise of the crowd. “He came to me in desperation, having heard of my unusual skills in the arcane.”

“Not a cleric?”

“Such diseases cannot be healed by holy magic,” En Sabah Nur said patiently. “I gather that he did try such avenues first. I did not wish to aid him at first, well-aware of the risks. He had insisted. Now he is healed, but the side-effects of the experimental spell have been myriad.” 

“Tell me.”

“Secrets for secrets, Paladin. Why are you in Calimport?”

“You,” Nathan said bluntly. He had told Wade that he had no ill intentions towards En Sabah Nur, but that was not the same as curiosity.

En Sabah Nur cocked his head, more intrigued than threatened. “A vision?”

“How did you know that?”

“Why else would only one Paladin come so furtively into Calimport to brave the Muzad?” In a more kindly tone, En Sabah Nur said, “Your God drives his believers harshly. What did you see?”

“Secrets for secrets. Tell me about Wade.”

“His mind is fractured. Sometimes he sees hallucinations, or speaks the most incomprehensible phrases. The spell heals him constantly. In doing so, it has scarred his skin waxen and hairless. His deformity troubles him. I offered to remove the spell, but he does not want death. Not even as he is now.” The hooded man looked away. “He offered to work for me in return. I said there was no debt, that I had inflicted worse upon him than his illness. He insisted.”

Nathan considered the sorceror’s words carefully and conceded their truth. “I see. Yet you send him up above to kill.”

“A war is coming, I think. The Twisted Rune has awakened to my presence, and it may be that they find it irritating.”

“Not threatening?” Nathan smiled tightly.

“Power senses power. But no. Were I thought threatening, I would already be dead. Wade is merely one of several of my men who are helping me cement alliances in the meantime. Tell me your vision, Paladin.”

“I saw Tyr’s hammer. Behind it, Calimport burned. Smoke choked its spires and domes. Blood ran on the streets. Above it all, gigantic, bloody, and surrounded with power, I saw you. The bodies of men and women were crushed in your left fist. You were reaching for Tyr’s hammer with your right hand. I have seen this thrice. Twice in sleep and once in prayer.”

“Strange,” En Sabah Nur said, sounding taken aback. “Have you heard of me before then?”

“Not from the first vision. I made inquiries after that. It would have been difficult to find your name, were it not for the words you shout in my vision.”

“Words?”

“Before your fingers curl around the haft of the hammer, you cry ‘I am En Sabah Nur! I do this for Nephri!’.” Nathan watched the sorceror closely. “Your wife, I believe.” 

En Sabah Nur stiffened, drawing to his full height. His red eyes flashed. His gloved hands curled to fists beneath his robe. “You would dare.”

“It is a warning.” Nathan stood his ground, ignoring the chemical, flat scent of circling arcane energies. “And, for now, an offer of aid should you wish it.” 

“I will have to think it over,” The sorceror relaxed forcibly, though his lips quirked under the thin fabric, “Peace and good fortune, Paladin. You are welcome in the Muzad. For now.”

Nathan noted the thinly-veiled warning with a faint incline of his head. He did not fault En Sabah Nur with caution, particularly faced with so outlandish a warning from a follower of an enemy God. “I was just about to leave.”

#

Nathan returned first to his rooms, uneasy from the meeting and the instinctive hostility he had caused within the sorceror. Ill-chosen words, perhaps. Nephri was said to be the great love of En Sabah Nur’s life.

Born to a nomadic tribe in the Calim Desert that was murdered by raiders, En Sabah Nur was sold at a young age to the flesh markets in Calimport. Listed as an abyssal aberrant due to his grayish skin and red eyes, the sorceror had been purchased secretly by the Nephri, the daughter of a pasha. En Sabah Nur had been sent to her uncle as an apprentice to hide him from her father. 

At eighteen, the boy’s sorcerous talent out-rivaled many adepts even of the Najja. It caught the attention of the Caleph-Arcane of Calimshan. As a precaution, En Sabah Nur had chosen to withdraw to the Muzad, where color and appearance was less a matter of violence than curiosity. Nephri had chosen to leave with him. It had been a scandal at the time.

With his talent, En Sabah Nur had risen quickly even in the lawlessness of the Muzad and was now its de facto ruler. Small wonder he had caught the eye of the Twisted Rune. Were they able to turn him into their pawn, he could be very useful to their agendas.

Shaking his head, Nathan opened the door to the small room he had been allowed in the somber cloister in the Temple of Torm within the Faiths Ward. As a follower of Tyr he was a welcome guest. It saved having to look up an inn with a reliable stable for Graymalkin—

A man sat cross-legged on his bed, long fingers folded over his thighs. His lips curved into a grin within the dim light of the half-shuttered lantern in Nathan’s grip.

“Wade.” Nathan carefully locked the door behind him and placed the lantern on the table, unhooding it further. “I was just about to head out to meet you.” 

“I saved us the trouble then.” Wade said, looking him keenly over. “All your bits still in place. Not bad. No, you can keep that,” he said, as Nathan made as though to remove the clawed necklace. “Had much fun?”

“I met your master in the Dark Bazaar,” Nathan said. He watched eyebrows arch under Wade’s mask.

“Really? You are so efficient. Another day or so and maybe you’ll even convert half of the Faiths Ward to the Maimed God,” Wade’s tone was almost insultingly facetious. “Also, your horse is as bloody violent as ever. Nearly took my fingers off.” 

“It doesn’t like spellwork. Nathan hesitated, then began removing his gauntlets, his palms sweaty under the plated leather. “Come with me after this to Waterdeep. Some of my friends may be able to help you.”

“Right after you explain to them why you’re so interested in helping a Calishite assassin?”

“Five years ago—”

“Water under the bridge, I know.”

“I do not regret what happened,” Nathan said. He unbuckled his shoulder plates. “I regret being unable to help you.”

“Yeah? You and your lousy persuade rolls.” Wade’s eyes were tracking the removal of Nathan’s armour with the gleam of a curious predator. “You do know that it’s a bitch if you fall, right? You lose all your levels and become a vanilla fighter.” 

“I have not committed any crime against His teachings,” Nathan pointed out. He felt light-headed as he pulled off his mail shirt. The jumble of his thoughts and the insanity of his actions were an uncomfortable press on his mind. 

Wade tilted his head, fingers curling at his ankles. He straightened up as Nathan approached, shucking armored boots and the last of his gear. Nathan rubbed a palm up on one lean thigh. He leaned in, lips parted… pressing into the flat of Wade’s leather glove. Behind the sheathed fingers, Wade’s eyes were narrowed.

“I’m not the only one who stinks of spellwork,” Wade said regretfully. His spare hand clapped something hard to Nathan’s bared shoulder that stung.

Nathan staggered back with a startled curse, the fog in his mind clearing. “Wade…?”

“Nice try, boss,” Wade said. He tucked whatever he had hit Nathan with back into a pouch at his belt. “Is this why you asked me to break into the Temple of Tyr? Because, you know, sometimes I fucking hate you.”

Nathan looked around warily. A scrying spell? His cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Nathan hadn’t even felt the spell take hold. When _had_ En Saba Nur placed it upon him? Mortification followed shame, then anger, then gratefulness. “Thank you.”

“Hey, I’ve met fallen Paladins, and they tend to be a really angsty, emotional bunch. Also, as a prestige class, Blackguards kinda suck.”

The assassin was babbling again. Nathan hoped his pity didn’t show on his face. He reached forward to cup a cheek. “Tyr’s disfavor does not come so easily. You have a troubled soul, but not an evil one.”

“Thanks for the assurance,” Wade said sarcastically, jerking back. “But I have enough blood on my hands to know my alignment. Strictly speaking, can assassins even be chaotic neutral? Or am I evil? Yeah, I’m probably evil. Neutral evil. Not cackling yet.”

“You are not evil.”

“Says you. There’s a great test on the ‘site though if you can find it.” Wade twisted up onto his feet and perched on the windowsill. “See you next time, Dayspring. Overstayed my welcome in Calimport Above.” 

When the assassin was gone, Nathan stared down from the window at the empty alley. Five years, one kiss, and his regret had been only that he had to leave.

#

Nathan had thought long and hard about returning to the Muzad and braving Nur’s wrath, but had conceded that the sorceror was not only prideful but justifiably wary of unknown paladins with dire visions. He would wait a while to see if his offer to help would bear fruit. Forcing the issue would likely spark violence.

Nathan tarried in the Temple of Torm, venturing out only occasionally to explore the less volatile areas of Calimport Above. The city was beautiful, all sandstone and spires and domes. Neverwinter looked nothing like Calimport.

Wade was pointedly absent, a marked difference between now and five years ago when the assassin had all but dogged Nathan’s steps in Calimport. Then, Wade had swung between humour, violence, and beckoning seduction. Wade had been curious about Nathan’s life as a follower of Tyr, his work along the Coast, the Order’s holdings in Waterdeep. He’d had a hundred incessant questions. 

The current silence was disconcerting. Nathan doubted that altruism was in the assassin’s nature. The bone necklace was still tucked into his surcoat. Had Wade been ordered to stay away? Or was he truly concerned about the possibility of Nathan falling out of Tyr’s favor?

The thought of Wade intentionally keeping his distance was uncomfortable. Nathan didn’t hide his attraction to Wade. But an assassin was what Wade was, unrepentantly. He was a man who killed others for coin. His soul was not evil, but neither was it good. The Maimed God would’ve found fault in Nathan’s interest.

Even so, Nathan smiled when he turned a corner in the Temple ’s library one afternoon to find Wade lounging against a tall bookcase. “Wade.”

“Does nothing surprise you, Dayspring?” Wade’s arms were folded. He was tense. Wade was clearly here on business. Business that he didn’t want to undertake. Nathan forced down his wariness and his disappointment. 

“Not very much, no.” 

“I’m here,” Wade said with studied formality, “to deliver an invitation of employment. En Sabah Nur runs an agency. I’m a member. There are a handful of other fifth to ninth-level assassins. Some of them are pretty competent when you get over their crazy little ways.”

“I am no assassin.” Nathan couldn’t hide his relief. So it was merely an invitation, at least on its face. Not an actual assassination. Nathan wasn’t sure if Wade would attack him on Nur’s order. It had been five years. He was, on his part, certain that he didn’t want to fight Wade.

“I told him you would say that,” Wade said, “and he says, well, go and tell him anyway. I say, suuure, but I get to tell you ‘I told you so’ later and Bossman says, why are you still here, Wade. Seriously, nobody even listens to whatever I say unless I’m cutting bits off their toes—”

“—but,” Nathan interrupted, “if I may take the offer as his acceptance of my previous invitation to protect him, I accept.”

Wade shook a finger at him. “I just said it’s an invitation for employment. Meaning money. Do you guys even accept money? I thought it lowers your alignment. You can just refuse. This isn’t one of those games which claim to be sandbox but really have a string of ‘You Must Do Quest A to B’ sort of linear thing in order to advance the plot.”

“I will take payment by way of donation to the Temple of Torm.”

“That’s a corkscrew way of going about it. Tyr doesn’t like corkscrews.”

“He believes in applying the correct tool to the correct problems in His judgments,” Nathan corrected. “Unless there is any other reason why I should not take up this offer?” 

Wade hesitated. “Are you thinking this through? I mean, you’re going to be in a party with a bunch of people who are all assassins. Usually, the lawful good character’s bitchy lines can be fun, but I wouldn’t put it beyond any of them to stick it to you in the back with sharp pointy objects. And Nur’s been… twitchy since the Dark Bazaar. Wouldn’t put it beyond him to use you for fireball practice. If you want some free advice, I’d say get on a boat out of Calimport and join the Grimjaws.” 

Nathan waited patiently until Wade finished. “I thank you for being concerned, but I’ve made up my mind.”

“Yeah? Just don’t come crying to me when you’re relegated to healbot duty, paladin.” Wade looked nonplussed. His fingers curled and uncurled into his arms, agitated. “That vision business must really be a major pallie sugar trip. Are you leaving your horse here?”

The Muzad was not particularly suited for riding large chargers. Nathan would miss Graymalkin, but he could trust Torm’s followers to keep him well taken care of. “For now.” 

Wade exhaled loudly. “Look, is there any way I can talk you out of being so godsdamned reckless?”

Nathan stepped forward, backing Wade up until the assassin’s back hit the warmed stone of the library walls. He leaning one gauntleted arm over Wade’s head and gently brought the fingers of his free hand up to the edge of Wade’s mask. The assassin made a noise of protest as Nathan tugged up the mask. He didn’t move when Nathan pulled up the hem. Wade’s skin had turned waxen and malformed under magic’s chaotic touch, textured and uneven. Wade’s pulse skittered under Nathan’s thumb as he pulled up the mask further, to the mouth drawn in a thin line. Nathan leaned close, pressing a kiss over lips parting in shock.

Frozen, Wade didn’t move. Nathan began to draw back in disappointment. Arms wrapped tightly around his neck to stop him. Wade pulled Nathan back down with a stifled groan, and Nathan _had_ missed this. He’d missed the low purr Wade liked to make whenever kissed breathless. Missed the way Wade fit easily against him, even when he wasn’t there. 

“I bet you put all your points into wis to get to eighteen and took some out of int to spare,” Wade whispered as they pulled back for air.

“After all this, you are coming to Waterdeep with me.”

“I notice you left out the ‘will you please’ bit of that statement.”

“I am not asking.” Nathan leaned over, kissing away Wade’s indignant protest.

“And then what? We get married, plus happily ever after?” Nathan blinked and Wade sneered. “You don’t need to get so hung up on doing good, Dayspring. If you’re going to have to leave eventually I’d rather you did it sooner.”

“That’s exactly what you said five years ago. And I have regretted listening to you,” Nathan said, meeting Wade’s challenging stare.

“Oh.” Startled, Wade’s belligerence deflated. He looked confused. Maybe a little hopeful. “You mean, you really did miss me?”

“That at the very least, and more.”

“Wow! And we didn’t even have sex-mmpth!”

“We are in a God’s house,” Nathan removed his hastily clapped hand from Wade’s mouth. “Please remember that.”

“Says you, when we were making out just five minutes ago.” Wade pulled his mask back down, tucking it in. The wary tension in him was gone. “I guess going up to your room to catch up on lost time is a no go?”

“Yes. But The Muzad would be another story.”

“I’ll help you pack!”

#

Being studied closely by a ‘handful of other fifth to ninth level assassins’ was a disturbing experience. Nathan stared back evenly at the group of killers that Wade had introduced as ‘Agency X’. He tried to withhold the instinctive urge to judge them. That was not what Nathan was here for.

The tentative leader of the group was a scarred and heavyset bald man called Hayden. ‘Failed his resist roll on a spell to the face’, Wade had explained. Whatever that meant. ‘Outlaw’ was a woman with a wide-brimmed hat and two repeater bolt crossbows at her hip, miniature and custom-made and wicked-looking. Beside her was ‘Taskmaster’, a tall, forbidding man, masked and hooded in studded leather. There was a secretary called Sandi, a weaponsmith called Weasel, and a caretaker called Blind Al.

“Aaand, this is our new friend, kids. Paladin Dayspring of Tyr. If you think of him as The Healbot, everything will make sense.” Wade patted him heavily on his armored shoulder. “Al, could you get upstairs to fix up Dayspring a spare room?”

“A Paladin? Well, I’d be,” Al said, surprised. “Someone change the script while I wasn’t looking?”

“It’s a bit complicated,” Wade conceded. “Either our DM is an evil bastard or someone refused to change his charsheet to fit the campaign. Anyway, we’re stuck with him. So live with it. Orders from upstairs and all that.” 

Agency X resided in a warren of rooms under Nur’s fortress of a residence. They were in the main office, which had a big desk and a haphazard set of cushioned seats. Ventilation shafts were set discreetly into the walls, and there were at least four different exits out of the rooms. Hayden ambled back heavily and flopped into his chair behind the desk, pudgy fingers reaching for a plate of fried chicken wings. 

“If Nur gave him the OK, that’s fine by me,” Hayden said as he ate. “Wade, he’s your problem.”

“What, why me?”

“Because he’s your problem, that’s why. Go get him sorted out. Preferably into something that won’t wake the goddamn dead when he gets around on missions. All that clanky-clanky in the plate mail is getting on my nerves.”

“I am here to protect En Saba Nur. I will not kill for coin,” Nathan said. 

Taskmaster snorted derisively, shook his head and looked over to Hayden. “I’m leaving. Have work to do up in the Minqa Sabban.” 

“Yeah, see you later, Tasky.” Hayden said. Taskmaster left the room. The others drifted away under Hayden’s pointed stare. “So. You’re working for Nur, but you’re not working for Nur. Are you getting paid, because I want in on your package.”

“Funds will be remitted via donation to the Temple of Torm,” Nathan said.

Hayden pulled a face. “That’s a corkscrew way of doing it.”

“That’s what I told him,” Wade grumbled. He was giving out the fake impression of good cheer. Nathan knew better. Wade had been tense the moment they had entered the Muzad. “He’s here in Calimport because of a vision. Apparently, Nephri is going to cop the big one, and then Nur will go crazy and all ‘Apocalypse Now’ on the known world, crushing the innocents in his fists and puppies and kittens underfoot.”

“Really?” Hayden raised both eyebrows. “Shit. When you Tyr guys have visions, you don’t go halves about it. So why are you here, then? I really don’t think Nur is going to let you near his wife. He doesn’t let anyone near his wife except people he trusts implicitly.”

“I suppose I could heal injuries. As Wade mentioned. And I need to speak with Nur, once he is willing to hear counsel,” Nathan said.

“Go make yourself an appointment.” Hayden yawned, grabbing another chicken wing. “Wade, you’ve got an hour, then you’re due topside in the Trades Ward.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Wade grabbed Nathan’s arm with barely restrained eagerness. “C’mon, let’s go find Al and sort out your room.”

Nathan flushed. Hayden made no comment. Outlaw and Sandi, however, snickered and winked in the corridor outside, making him cough in embarrassment. 

“Be good, boys,” Outlaw said. Wade pulled a face at her, dragging Nathan down the corridor. Just before he got dragged out of range, Nathan could’ve sworn that he heard Sandi complain, “All the handsome ones, Outlaw. It’s always the handsome ones.”

#

Once inside the spare room indicated by Al, door safely shut, Wade’s cocksure step turned hesitant. Wade perched himself precariously on the single chair, watching Nate unpack his few belongings on the bed. “You’re seriously taking up his offer.”

“I thought that was obvious two hours ago.”

“No, I mean, you’re serious. About us. It’s seriously a bad idea. Are all of Tyr’s Paladins like you?”

“Maybe.” Nathan placed a book on the desk beside Wade, keeping his movements slow and unthreatening. Wade was watching his hands, spooked and tense, his back hunched tight as a spring. He flinched visibly when Nathan put a gauntleted palm over Wade’s splayed fingers on the desk. “Are all Calishite assassins like you?”

“What do you mean, like me?” Wade stared down pointedly at their hands, but made no move to pull his hand away.

“Concerned citizens.”

“Ooh, a joke. Bad one. Someone just rolled a four on his charisma check. I thought pallies had high cha.”

“Wade. Why are you angry at me?

“I’m… I’m not!”

“You are. Why?”

“Because,” Wade snarled, “of all the goddamn rotten luck, when you finally come back to me, I’m no longer the pretty boy whose ass you chased all over the Faith Ward! I never did doubt you would come back, sooner or later,” the assassin said bitterly. “You had that look. I was looking forward to it. And then the illness happened. After that, I wished you would never come back. Because when you eventually leave, hell, this time you’ve got more than enough reas—”

Nathan kissed Wade hard over the mask. When Wade let out a sharp breath, Nathan pulled up the mask and kissed Wade again. Deeper. He knocked the chair aside and nudged Wade onto the desk, pulling him up flush against Nathan’s hips. Wade pulled back for a harsh breath and Nathan dragged the mask off all the way. 

The damage done by spellwork was still telling even in the dim glow of the lantern by the door. Flesh that had once stretched firmly over delicate cheekbones had turned waxen and uneven, twisted into angry, dull red lumps over tanned skin. Wade’s lush brown hair was missing. The warm dark eyes Nathan remembered were angry and hard.

“It’s like this the rest of the way too,” Wade said, belligerent. “And if you tell me Waterdeep can make it all better, I’m going to fucking stab you in the liver.”

“Wade.” Nathan pressed a soft kiss tentatively over his brow, pulling off his gauntlets to run his hands curiously over the uneven skin. “Even if you look like this for the rest of your life, that doesn’t change how I feel.”

“I call bullshit on that.” Wade’s retort was too quick, his breath catching as Nathan pressed kisses down his neck. 

“Five years ago you saved my life. Even now, you still care for me,” Nathan told him. “I love the way you speak. The way you move when you fight, like dancing.” Nathan trailed his hands down Wade’s back, probing for the buckles of his vest. “Your sense of loyalty, your wit… If looks mean so much to you, should I be worried?”

“Wha… what? You’re hot, Dayspring,” Wade stuttered. He arched his back as Nathan stripped him of his vest and gloves. “What are you talking about?”

“It won’t last long. People grow old. And I’m in a dangerous line of work,” Nathan said. Wade’s body was as muscular and lithe as ever. Still beautiful. Magic and illness couldn’t take that away. Nathan swept callused hands up Wade’s flanks, pressing thumbs over perking nipples.

“Huh. Can’t really, can’t really imagine.” Wade squirmed, thighs finally wrapping around Nathan’s hips. Nimble hands helped Nathan shuck off his clothes. “’Course, it won’t matter to me.”

“Then? What makes you think that it matters to me?” Nathan pressed a sucking kiss over Wade’s collarbone, nipping hard until the assassin hissed. The erection that Nathan was palming under leather breeches twitched eagerly. Using psionic magic, Nathan began, to playfully stimulate the flesh his hands and mouth came into contact with, heightening sensation until Wade was groaning and squirming under his caresses.

“Uhh… I guess… Nine Hells, you’re a bloody cheat.” Wade bit down on his lip as Nathan put a ring of suppression with his mind around the assassin’s balls, preventing his release. “I, uhh, I have an hour.”

“I am well aware of that fact.” Nathan removed Wade’s belt and pouches, dragging down his pants just enough to free his prick. Textured, long and swollen, Wade let out a long, heaving breath and a whine as Nathan took it in hand. He explored it first with fingers, then with his tongue, lapping around and over the contours, inhaling Wade’s spicy musk with another purr.

Wade let out a squeal as Nathan swallowed him unhurriedly down to the root, concentrating on loosening his throat. Nathan ignored the fingers clutching bonelessly at his hair and at his shoulders. He pulled back up, pursing his lips and sweeping his tongue over hard flesh, swirling over the salty tip, then swallowing back down again. Wade swore in Calishite cant, interspersed by gasps of Common. Nathan caught _please_ and _more_ in the same prayer as his name as he sucked. Only after Wade had long begged himself hoarse did Nathan let the suppression loose, swallowing and holding down slim hips as they bucked uncontrollably against him.

Nathan was licking Wade clean when the assassin finally found his tongue. “Wow. If that’s part of being a paladin, I’m so multiclassing,” Wade said. He stayed slumped against the stone wall with his legs deliciously splayed. 

“Go for your mission. You have about a quarter of an hour,” Nathan said primly, wiping off his mouth.

“What about you? Wade pushed himself upright unsteadily. “We’re not done.”

“I can wait.” Nathan slanted his mouth quickly against Wade’s when the assassin shot him a skeptical glance. “Think of it as an incentive to return quickly.” 

“Stop modifying my concentration checks,” Wade muttered, stretching gingerly. “All right. Recklessness might be catching, but I’m convinced. Somehow, you still want me. I don’t get why, and I’m not convinced that you don’t have some sort of ulterior motives.” Nathan sighed loudly. “Suspicious minds, apocalyptic visions, and all that,” Wade said. 

Nathan shook his head, removing his own armor to his undershirt and breeches, lining up his boots at his bed before seating himself cross-legged upon it, taking another book out of his bag. “It’s a holy text,” he explained, when Wade raised an eyebrow. “Helps me meditate and focus my mind.”

“Must suck being a magic user,” Wade said cheerfully, already pulling on his mask. He sashayed over and palmed Nathan roughly over his breeches. Nathan narrowed his eyes and Wade grinned through his mask. “Wait up for me, Dayspring.”

“Don’t be long.”

#

One week in, Nathan ventured out into the Muzad by himself. Wade was somewhere Above on a task and no one else in the Agency was free to ‘babysit’, as Hayden put it. Nathan wasn’t fooled. He was being tailed. The assassins worked for Nur, after all.

Nathan wasn’t entirely surprised to see the Gray Caller once he was out of sight of Nur’s residence-fortress. Today, the Dark Bazaar was within the shell of a long-dry underground lake, fingers of stone sharp and thin around the stalls. Nathan stood a ways from the eateries and waited. 

“How do you find our lovely city, Paladin?”

The voice was urbane, warm and beautiful and male. It came from behind the stone pillar close by. Heavy cloth rustled as the stranger walked out into view. He wore a heavy, brown cloak that was clasped at the throat with a complex gold seal. 

“I prefer Waterdeep, stranger,” Nathan said.

“And well you should.” The stranger laughed. It was a sibilant sound, more of punctuation than mirth. “You should heed your lover’s warnings and leave. Go back to Waterdeep.”

“Why so, stranger?”

“The one you guard is long dead.” There was a papery malice to the beautiful voice. “And so you guard for naught but endanger your own life.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you ever seen Nephri, stranger? Has anyone seen her? Ask them that. What you find may even surprise you.” 

“I think you tell me this unkindly, sir.” The edges of the mind Nathan touched was cold and guarded. He could not read it. “I do not know your name.”

“Secrets for secrets, Paladin.” The stranger echoed Nur’s words, and Nathan could not help the faint chill that settled in his spine.

“What would you know?”

“What brought you here?” The stranger asked.

“A vision.”

“Hn.” The stranger sounded pleased. He threw back his hood with a gauntleted arm, revealing a familiar steel death’s mask, the eyes in triangular slits and the teeth of the mouth in bars.

“Doom.” Nathan resisted the urge to draw his blade, his eyes narrowing. 

“So you have heard of me.” Doctor Doom of the Twisted Rune chuckled. “Ask your new Master if you may attend today on the lady Nephri. Doubtless, such a meeting would have interesting revelations.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“You should not. Nor do you. And while you consider the reason that brought you first to Calimport, do recall that visions are merely waking dreams. Waking dreams are easy to impress onto unsuspecting minds.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Nathan asked, frowning. This man was not like the Doom described in the annals of records in Waterdeep. The records named Doom a mysterious sorcerer, quick to cruelty and quicker yet to schemes. This blunt declaration of facts from Doom was uncharacteristic. Unless there was a scheme under it all. A set of puppetry strings that Nathan had yet to see.

“Simply to provide you with a little context in the days to come. Fare you well, Paladin,” Doom said mockingly. “Perhaps we could meet again in better circumstances.”

#

Waking dreams. Unsuspecting minds. Turning Doom’s words over in his mind, Nathan found himself walking aimlessly in the Muzad. He let the flow of humanity take him in its eddy. Doom was clearly trying to suggest that someone had implanted the memory within him. Nur and Wade had been all too familiar with Tyr’s secret rituals. Or Doom was doing what he did best, twisting words imply treachery where there was none.

Nathan would have to pray. Contact another of the Grimjaws. It was exhausting trying to touch another’s mind over a great distance, but this was an emergency. A Grimjaws’ vision was a private matter. Yet Nathan had to be certain. Certain that what he had seen was truly a vision. Nathan had after all learned firsthand and recently that despite all his guards and precautions, the very skilled could still subtly influence his mind.

So thinking, Nathan found himself wandering up the path towards one of the exits to upper Calimport. The crowd was thinning. He quickened his pace, eager for sunlight. Greymalkin would have missed him. Nathan should also let the priests of Torm know that he was doing well. A ride out in the sun would do him good. Even in Calimport’s crowded streets. 

He was nearly at the exit when Wade spoke quietly behind him.

“Dayspring. No, don’t turn. I mean it.”

The harsh edge in Wade’s voice forced Nathan to obey. “What is it, Wade?”

“Nephri is dead.”

The sudden jolt that Wade’s dull words brought caused Nate to inhale sharply. “When?”

“They just found out. It’s chaos in the house, bloody chaos. Her body was all rotted too, like she’d been dead for a while.”

“Who found out?”

“Nur did, and he told us.” Wade’s voice slanted lower, suspicious. “You seem to be taking this really well.”

Now Nathan could see the puppeteer’s strings. Careful to guard his words, he said, “I’ve been prepared for this for a while now, what with the vision.”

“True.” The tension in Wade’s voice didn’t relax.

“How’s Nur?”

“You can imagine.”

Nathan grimaced. “I have to go back.”

“No. You’re leaving. Where were you, the last couple of hours? You slipped our best sniffer and you disappeared. You _disappeared_ , Dayspring, and now Nephri is dead!” 

“I was in the Dark Bazaar.” 

“Where you won’t have an alibi,” Wade reached the conclusion the same time he did. “Who did you meet? Please don’t tell me it’s one of the Caliphs. Or Doom.”

Nathan was silent, the chill settling again in his spine, senses hyper aware now. If Wade wanted to kill him, Nathan would not feel the dagger in his back until it was too late. “I…”

“God damn but you’re fucking trouble, Dayspring,” Wade whispered. “I should have known.”

“I didn’t kill her. I’ve never even met her.” 

“Yeah. Yeah. But you must know how it looks. Please, please go.” Wade sounded exhausted. Desperate. “Just go. I’ll go back, talk to Nur.”

“No. If you go, I’ll go with you.” Nathan turned around. Wade was nowhere to be seen. “Wade?”

“It’s a handy trick. Hiding in Plain Sight. Theoretically and logically it doesn’t work, but what do you know.” Wade’s voice seemed to come out of all the shadows that seeped into the dim caverns of the Muzad. “Take your horse, chart a ship out of here. I’ll fix this.” 

“Wade, how? Wade? Wade!” Something sharp stung him at the base of his neck. Nathan managed one step back towards the darkness before the floor tumbled up to meet him.

#

The round, worried face of Abbot Tomas spun slowly and dreamily into cohesion. Dizzy, Nathan tried to sit up. He had to lie back down hastily as his stomach threatened to crawl out of his throat. Nathan managed a hoarse croak. Tomas pressed something cool and wet into his hands. A glass of water. With some help, Nathan drank.

“W-Wade?” Nathan choked out. He touched his face. Couple of days’ worth of beard growth. What? He looked around. His armour sat in a corner in a neat, polished pile. Nathan was dressed in a patient’s cotton tunic and breeches. 

“Rest, Brother Dayspring,” Tomas said. He placed the glass of water back on the stool beside the narrow infirmary bed. “I have already notified our fellow brethren in Waterdeep. They bid you rest and return.”

“No, no,” Nathan muttered, keeping his breathing shallow as nausea choked him with its sour grip. “Nur.”

“The Muzad is closed. One suspects violence. It is not uncommon in this city.” Tomas bustled briefly out of his line of sight. He returned with a damp, cold cloth that he pressed to Nathan’s forehead. The Abbot retook his seat by the bed. “You were left on our doorstep, fevered and unconscious. You have been asleep for days. We were beginning to worry.”

“Poison.”

“Aye. Non-lethal venom from sh’arad’s asp. A common tool of Calishite assassins.”

It was as he suspected. Wade had wanted him out of the way while he ‘fixed’ things. Given the unrest in the Muzad, Nathan could only suspect the very worst. “I need to go.”

“There is no way to return. The blockade is far more than your blade can clear. Besides, the asp’s venom must run its course. We have given you a potion and a remedy but your body will be weak for a score of days yet.”

A score of days. Wade could be dead. Worse. Nathan closed his eyes. His chest ached. “I want a message sent to Waterdeep, please. By your fastest courier.”

“We have a scryer. Brother Midan’s skills are adept enough at passing messages.” At Nathan’s raised eyebrow, the Abbot looked embarrassed. “This is Calimport, Brother Nathan. Traditional messages oft go astray.”

“Scryer, then. Now, please.”

“You should rest yet another day without exertion-”

“Now.”

The Abbot looked startled, his mouth opening and closing. Tomas was speaking but his words were being swallowed into nothing. The constant background echo of the busy city had ebbed also into nothing. His pain and nausea eased. Nathan sat up and swung his feet off the bed. The Abbot continued to speak, addressing Nathan as though he was still lying on the bed. Tomas’ lips moved in slow motion. Nathan went to his armour, taking his broadsword from where it leaned against the wall. His senses were alert for traps, carefully checking the shields on his mind for any breaches.

He stepped out of the spartan room and into the rolling dunes of a desert, the sun scorching hot over his neck and under his sandals. The breeze was harsh and boiled over his bared skin as Nathan stepped onto burning sand. In the distance, the white outline of Calimport shimmered and wavered against the vast blue brushwork of the sea.

Nathan took a step forward. He winced as the weight in his hand abruptly turned impossible. Instinctively, Nathan caught the broadsword’s hilt with both hands. He stared. 

His serviceable sword was molten in his hands, though he wasn’t burned. The metal shifted and eddied into pits and whorls over the surface. Gold and silver and jewels crept onto the handle and the head, settling into curling patterns that were instantly familiar.

Nathan sighed, the sound harsh and abrupt in the unnatural silence. “No, Lord, I am not worthy.”

He let go of the sword that was now a hammer. As it hit the ground a wave of sand splashed away with the jarring sound of a deep bell being struck, all the way under his feet. The gold and jewels and silver scattered, twisting away into the sand. The hammer the jewels revealed was unfamiliar. It had a plain wooden handle wrapped with faded cloth, mottled with a God’s old blood. The head was a single piece of white stone that glowed with its own unearthly light.

Nathan rubbed his eyes and the hammer was gone. Now his mind was clear.

#

Tomas had grown worried when Nathan had apparently fainted midway while talking to him. Nathan felt like asking the Abbot to leave as the old man fussed over Nathan and over the scrying basin now installed in Nathan’s room. Nathan ignored him as the water cleared to reveal the chapterhouse chapel. Grimjaws waited within. Paladin Steven d’Rogers, Paladin Charles Xavier, ensconced in his heavy wheelchair, and Paladin Reed Richards.

“Congratulations,” Xavier said, with a warm smile. 

“A good year, to add one as yourself to our ranks, Dayspring. Long overdue,” Steven said. He looked far too cheerful before the somber backdrop of gray stone. “The bell sings when a follower passes the Test.” 

“The Lord’s Alliance would prefer that Calimport’s war stayed in Calimport,” Richards said soberly. “Or better yet, contained quickly in the bud. Calimport is an important trading hub along the sword coast and so on. I did tell them that the Grimjaws don’t get involved in local politics, but Lord Fury of Waterdeep and Lord Stark of Neverwinter are extremely persistent.”

“I have a friend who gave himself up to save my life. I will not leave him,” Nathan said firmly.

“Well then—” Steven began brightly.

Xavier interrupted. “How would you know if he yet lives?”

“I need to know for certain. And for that, I need aid,” Nathan said. “Please.” 

“To save one man who isn’t of our faith, you would risk the lives of the chosen?” Xavier asked.

“I will not trouble the Grimjaws more than to pass on a request to some of my friends.” 

Xavier nodded,. “Very well.”

“I’m going,” Steven said. He frowned as the other two Grimjaws sighed. “What?”

“If you go,” Xavier said dryly, “then Lord Stark would suddenly find pressing business to attend to in Calimport. Then we may yet have a full-fledged war across the Sword Coast.” 

Steven blushed. “No he won’t. He’s a busy man. Also, it’s quiet here in Waterdeep and there’re three of us here. The two of you can hold the fort.”

Nathan cleared his throat. “There are only thirteen of—”

“Fourteen,” Richards corrected.

“Fourteen of us,” Nathan conceded. “I don’t want to pull any of you from your duties. Thank you for your time and for the congratulations.”

“Make sure you return safely, Dayspring. Give us your message,” Xavier said.

#

“Lemme see if I got ya straight,” Logan said. He squatted on the ground, one long, metal claw from his knuckles drawing a line through the floor plan and a rough map etched onto the dirt. “You called us here t’break into a den full o’ snakes. Maybe startin’ a war in the process. Just t’rescue a Calishite assassin?”

“Not in so many words,” Nathan said. “We’re going to rescue him, yes. We also need to find out what happened to Nur. We need to try to stop the war. Nur was good for the Muzad. Hopefully, that hasn’t changed.”

Logan snorted. The others were silent. Doctor Strange was colourful in flowing mage robes, floating cross-legged over the ground with his eyes closed, arcane symbols circling and gleaming in the air around him. Logan was in a plain tunic and breeches, dark, swarthy hair wreathing the berserker’s feral features. Domino had her unstrung bow clasped at her back, the arcane bow lined with glowing symbols that blazed in colors according to its mistress’ moods. Storm stood tall and queenly in her white robes, a wind no one else could feel kicking up her pale locks. Paladin Steven, the only chosen of Tyr without a warhammer, clasped his famous shield on his arm as he studied the map. 

“Your motives are skewed as usual,” Domino said. “But I have not been in Calimport before. It is a fair holiday.”

“I agree with Nathan,” Doctor Strange said. “I have heard of Nur. A full battle between himself and the Twisted Rune could have detrimental effects far past Calimport itself.” 

“Explain yourself, Doctor,” Storm said sharply.

“Doom is a summoner. He has liaisons and links with the Abyssal Planes. I have heard that he can summon far more than your usual imps and succubi. Summoning such creatures to battle is far riskier than summoning them for counsel. Doom will lose control of his ‘allies’,” Strange said.

“Whatever the consequences, Nathan wants to rescue a friend, so that’s our priority,” Steven cut in before the mages began to argue. “After the information about the blockades, I think we should take one of the outskirt entrances. Those that circle into the Muzad. Lower chance of civilians getting caught in the crossfire.” 

Nathan nodded. “After that, I hope we can rely on Doctor Strange and Miss Storm to help us get close to Nur’s fortress, unseen. Hopefully into the warded gates.” Nathan drew a line through his rough map with a stick. “The shortest way through to the dungeons would be via the assassins’ quarters. They’re unguarded for a good reason. They can be accessed through a side gate, here. The other way is to fight through the mansion itself.” 

“Where we’d probably meet the assassins anyway,” Domino concluded. “I like the first one. Better probabilities.”

“And full o’ traps,” Logan muttered.

“That’s what we have Strange for.”

“That’s you talkin’ after hidden blades take off his scrawny neck.” Logan grinned wolfishly. “Sure thing.” 

“Let us make haste,” Steven said, with a quick look at Nathan. “That is, if you are fully recovered.”

“We do not have time to wait for that luxury.” Nathan had not recovered full strength in his limbs, but he could swing a blade and cast his psionic magic. As far as Nathan was concerned that was good enough. Wade might not have much time left.

#

They dispatched the guards at the first blockade easily enough. The rest of the winding tunnel into the Muzad had been fairly uneventful. Strange kept an eye out for traps and Storm masked their presence with a low mist. Logan proceeded to complain about constantly as it ‘played hob’ with his senses. Steven took point.

Nathan had met all of them here and there on his travels. He’d used to wander the realms with Domino and Logan, long before he pledged his life to Tyr. Nathan felt guilty asking them here to aid him on something so personal, but he did not like leaving debts hanging. There was a small hope that Wade had somehow managed to talk himself out of the tinderbox. That he’d arrive at the fortress only to find the assassin his cheerful, chatty self. Nathan wasn’t really an optimist. 

The streets of the Muzad were empty, traders and civilians boarding up their homes until the war had rolled over. The few passers-by they encountered either scurried away in fear or were patrols that they cloaked themselves against. Calimport Below was eerily silent, lacking the usual thrum and press of humanity. 

The Agency’s entrance into Nur’s fortress was via a pottery shop one block away. The narrow terrace house door was unlocked and the shop smelled musty, the wares piled neatly against the sandstone walls. Nate took them to the hidden door under the crate piled in the storeroom and waited while Strange unlocked it with a few silvery sketches with his fingers in the air.

When they opened the door, there was a faint but unmistakable grumble from the tunnel. “What, back already? Well, excuse my old bones, whoever it is. If you’re Taskmaster, you’d better have brought back at least half of my goddamned grocery list.”

No one answered. Blind Al’s head poked up through the trapdoor, frowning. She sniffed, her expression suddenly wary. “Ah.”

Before she could bolt, Nathan spoke up. “Al. It’s me.”

“Dayspring?” Al hissed, turning in his direction. “Why, the… what the hell did you come back for?”

“Wade told you?” Of course Wade would have told Al. In the time that Nathan had spent in the Agency, it was clear that Al was Wade’s closest approximation of a friend in the group. He was always talking to her.

“’Course he did, you damned lunk. Oh, hell. And you brought friends. Is this an invasion?”

Logan snorted. Steven was quicker, his tone firm and determined. “No, milady, we are on a mission of honour.”

Al’s face scrunched up in disbelief. Domino giggled and Nathan clapped a palm over his face. “Really,” Al said skeptically. 

“Yeah, saving Dayspring’s Calishite assassin friend’s ass. Let’s get to it. City smells off an’ I don’t like bein’ underground,” Logan grumbled. 

“Oh.” Al’s mind was a rush of images. Wary fear chased sullen defiance, then she came to a conclusion. “Fine. I didn’t think Wade did it either. I don’t think he deserves what he got. I’ll take you there if you’re quiet.”

“It’ll be dangerous for you if you help us,” Storm pointed out gently. “Strange could put you to sleep and we will leave you in a room. In that manner, when the alarm is called, you will not be culpable.”

“You don’t know what Nur is like now.” Al hunched her shoulders. “I was already culpable from the moment I didn’t start off by raising the alarm, girl. Let’s get to it.”

Al muttered constantly to herself in an undertone as she checked and disabled traps from experience. Eventually, Steven was the one to break the uncomfortable silence. 

“Milady, you need just point us at the dungeons and we will be on our way. If you would like to leave this place, we can pick you up on our return.”

Al glanced in Steven’s direction, her expression surprised. “What are you going into the dungeons for?”

Steven looked a little taken aback. “A prisoner would be in a dungeon.”

Al shook her head slowly. Had she eyes behind the blindfold over her face, Nathan supposed wryly that she would be rolling them. “The dungeon’s full, cold, and hell for someone already that sick. Nur doesn’t want him catching an infection and dying so quickly. He’s in his room. I take care of him. You’d better hope the rest haven’t come back yet.”

“Sick? A spell?” Doctor Strange asked, professionally curious. As much as Nathan knew the Doctor did not mean any malice, he still grit his teeth.

“More like the removal of one.” Al pressed fingers into a wall, listened until something gave an audible click. “Didn’t Dayspring tell you? Wade was sick, he went to Nur, Nur put a spell on him, and now—”

“Nur has removed it,” Nathan concluded, grimly. “How long more does he have?”

“A month? Maybe a couple months?” Al’s scratchy, quavering voice was tight with suppressed anger. “Wade hasn’t been all there, and he can be a little shit at the best of times, but I don’t think anyone deserves this.”

#

The overpowering lemon scent in Wade’s room didn’t entirely mask the lingering stench of human waste. Logan had coughed and retreated, ostensibly to stand guard. The Agency rooms were empty, thankfully. Wade’s room was stripped bare of all the haphazard weaponry that Nathan remembered. It was empty. Nathan let out a long, slow breath.

“He’s not here,” Al said. She sounded lost. “I just left him here.”

“If ya mean the thing that stinks o’ medicine an’ vomit, he’s long gone,” Logan said, sniffing at the air. “Pushed himself up against the wall and dragged himself that way.”

“Which way?” Al asked sharply, swiveling her head around to Logan’s voice.

“Door wi’ the blue scroll over it.”

“Stables.” Al pinched the bridge of her nose. “Godsdamnit. ‘Least he probably won’t run into much trouble. Nur and Doom have gone for their big throwdown.”

Strange and Storm exchanged glances. “Dayspring. We have to go,” Storm said urgently.

“I…” Nathan caught himself, biting down on his lip. “You’re right. Let’s go. Milady Al, would you know where the battle is?”

“Get someplace high and listen for the explosions? I’m only a cleaner, wiseass. You guys are supposed to be the big damned heroes,” Al snapped, already her usual crabby self. “I’ll go find Wade. The rest of you can go do whatever you need to do.” Al began to shuffle towards the door Logan had indicated, muttering something about bloody adventurers under her breath.

Nathan nodded, turning for the exit that would lead them to the parapet. He paused as Steven put a hand on his shoulder. “No, Nathan,” Steven said gently, “we’ll go. You search for your friend. You can catch up with us later once he is safe.”

“I cannot just leave all of you when you are about to go to war.”

Domino snickered. Logan rolled his eyes. “Look, bub. Thanks for the mother act, but we can take care o’ ourselves. Just go find loverboy.”

Nathan felt his ears redden, thankful for the dim light. “I will not forget this.”

“Introduce us when it’s over,” Steven said cheerfully. “I’m sure that Anthony would also like to meet him.”

Storm chuckled. “Of course, Paladin. Once he’s finished drowning whoever dragged you into a war zone in the nearest river.”

Logan looked over at Nathan, and Domino smirked even as Steven flushed. “Eh,” Logan said. “Dayspring can swim.”

#

Wade was quicker than Al had given him credit for. The scattered guards on the way to the stable had already been disposed of, if with erratic stab and slice wounds. Nothing close to Wade’s usual precision.

The warm, placid minds of the workhorses indicated that a Familiar Human had come by a period of time ago and had taken one of them out. The images were fuzzy, more impressions than sights.

“I could’ve sworn he was out for the count,” Al muttered for the sixth time. “Could’ve sworn.”

“Not your fault,” Nathan said.

“Damn right it isn’t! You, you and him and all of your kind, you’re all godsdamned jackasses.” Al shook a finger in his general direction. Her shoulders slumped. “OK. Let’s go.”

“Stay here. The battleground will not be safe. Find a place to hide, we’ll come back for you.”

“Heard that sort of song before,” Al said bitterly. “Guess I’ll just be slowing you down. Pick one of these old nags and get going. You won’t catch up with your friends at this rate.”

Nathan stared, wondering whether or not to reassure the old woman further. Convincing her would take time, and Nathan needed to go after Wade. He’d have a better chance of finding him if he could regroup with Logan and the others. “Would you have any idea where Wade would be headed?”

“How should I know? He hasn’t been right in his head since the shot of magic from Nur. Sometimes he sees things. Sometimes he hears things. He does things to people that he doesn’t remember and you can see it bloody scares him inside when he wakes up. Just go, Paladin. Shar willing, maybe you’ll even find him before he hurts himself.”

With those dour words still heavy on his mind, Nathan spurred the strongest workhorse in the stable out into the Muzad, sweeping the area carefully with his mind. As Al had previously mentioned, the fight was most probably in the area with the loud repeated explosions. After passing a block of boarded houses in that direction, Nathan rode right into Storm’s mist.

“Welcome back,” Steven said doubtfully. “Did you find him?”

“No.” Nathan dismounted, patting the horse on the rump. It rolled its eyes fearfully at him and galloped back towards Nur’s fortress. The stench of magic was growing stronger. Infernal magic. The animal was rightfully spooked. “If he’s heading in the direction of the battle, we’ll run into him. If he’s not, I hope he has the good sense to hide.”

‘Good sense’ and Wade didn’t, unfortunately, go along well. Nathan and the others skirted the worst of the battles, trying to circle towards its midst. Above them and around them, magic against magic blistered and screamed between Nur’s troops and the Twisted Rune. Light in every color and shade splashed over the cavernous ceiling overhead in a frenzy. Burned corpses and warped flesh littered narrowing streets. Nathan couldn’t tell who was winning. Screams and the moans of the dying echoed under the constant clash of steel and the roar of fireballs.

“We must fly,” Storm said urgently. “Or we cannot avoid battle. Strange, your aid.”

Strange nodded, closing his eyes. Nothing happened for a long moment, then Logan swallowed a hasty curse as they abruptly rose off the ground. The mist unfurling upwards with them, flowing over the rooftops as they headed towards the bright foci of light in the distance. Two battling sorcerers. Nathan kept searching the roads for Wade. Probably futile. If Wade was remotely rational right now, he’d have abandoned his horse and resorted to stealth.

“We are late,” Storm said, cutting into his thoughts. “Look! The Gate opens!” 

In the distance, behind the blinding focus of green hues, an Abyssal Gate in stained bones was opening into the fabric of the Plane with a multitonal scream. Within the rectangle of the Gate, towering above even the fortress of the Rune behind it was a piercing, twisting darkness. 

There was a faint shout. The Gate began to absorb magic. 

Lights and colors streamed towards it, swallowed into the darkness. Domino let out a hiss as they began to fall. Hastily, Storm and Strange tried weaving spells, but with the leeching of their magic, they only succeeded in slowing their fall. Nathan landed heavily with a curse, his companions faring no better.

“What is happening, Strange!” Steven shouted over howling winds, the unearthly sound entwining with the screams from the Gate.

“Something is coming,” Strange replied. He began to run towards the Gate. “Something too heavy for our world. It’s trying to breach through.”

“By eating magic,” Logan said, wrinkling his nose.

“Much magic.” Storm nodded. “It must have waited a long time for such a battle. Hurry.”

#

The sorcerors stood facing each other on the roofs of two single-story houses, the rock around them blasted and warped by magical energies from the spells flung at each other. They were oblivious to the Gate’s parasitism. Both were under strain. Nur’s back was bent and Doom’s hands were beginning to tremble. The battle around them raged just as fiercely. Dark-robed acolytes and soldiers from the Twisted Rune fought tooth and claw against the liveried warriors of Nur’s dominion as well as more ragtag, assorted denizens of the Muzad itself.

If Nate concentrated through the sifting minds, he could pick out familiar ones. The sharp, steel brightness of Taskmaster, weaving through the alleys and picking off his victims. The quick concentrated strength of Outlaw, perched somewhere on a high ledge with her crossbow.

A massive clawed hand, larger than houses, burst through the dark warp behind the Gate. Its clawed fingertips clamped shut on the bone frame of the Gate. Doom let out a hoarse snarl of victory. The gleaming shields around him began to fade and shatter as the Gate drew ever more energy out from around it. Nur faltered, as though made aware of the Gate for the first time. Doom grinned, holding his hands above him to summon a fireball—

—only for it to sputter and cough as a dagger plunged into his back. 

The spellshields had deflected the edge, sinking it inches away from Doom’s heart. Wade already had another dagger in his hands, his grin a death’s mask in the unearthly gold and green of Doom’s shield glow. Around them and before them the Twisted Rune and Nur’s men hesitated as they noticed the Gate. Whatever veil Doom had cast over the area shattered in full. Many fell to their knees in sheer shock or fled screaming in rout. 

Doom raised a fist with a roar of outrage that ended in an outraged howl of pain as a crossbow bolt slammed through his wrist. Far up on her vantage point, Outlaw’s mind flickered with satisfaction. Staggering back, Doom took one step too far and fell from the roof, landing heavily on the flagstones. Even as he struggled to his feet, Logan was there. Nathan winced reflexively at the meaty sound of the mercenary’s claws ramming through the sorceror’s skull.

“Kill-stealers!” Wade yelled from the roof. The assassin was dressed only in tunic, breeches, and sandals. Although his warped skin was smooth now, his hands shook. It was clearly taking all of Wade’s willpower simply to remain standing. “I have dibs on the big one, since I saw it first!”

“Stand down, Wade. And the rest of you. This is my doing.” Nur said. He had turned to face the Gate. The massive claws had dug deep into the bone, but with the battle over and both armies fleeing, the energies the Gate had been leeching had come to an abrupt halt. The Abyssal being within was struggling to breach. 

“Dayspring has a full party, boss, and I don’t think he’s going to make any substitutions,” Wade said. He seated himself unsteadily on the edge, sheathing his daggers in his belt. “Maybe if we make our own? We don’t have a healbot though.”

Nathan flinched as Taskmaster faded into view beside Wade, but Taskmaster merely said, “Hayden and I scoped it out. There are eight anchor points around the Gate, that’s what’s keeping it open. Let’s split up.”

“Great!” Wade tried to get up. Taskmaster held him down by the shoulder.

“Sick people stay put. You’ll be in our way.”

“Sick? Who got the first hit in on Doom, huh?” Wade growled, then he blinked and went limp as Taskmaster aimed a jab at a pressure point near his neck.

“Well?” The skull-masked assassin asked Nathan impatiently. “Let’s move.” 

“Storm and I will stay with Nur,” Strange said. “When the anchor is cut, we will attempt to reroute the backlash safely. Go.”

#

Nathan hefted his bloodied blade, standing in a circle of dead Twisted Rune magi. The giant Gate began to falter, its bone frame coming loose. Great fragments smashed down in clouds of dust and shrapnel over the Muzad. The hand scrabbled for purchase as it slipped back into the green warp. The frame finally collapsing with a thunderous roar, arcane energies streaking up to the dome of the Muzad’s ceiling to splash harmlessly as fireworks.

Nathan hurried back to Wade. He found the assassin curled on the ground, sleeping. The mages were standing around him and arguing. Storm looked up as she saw Nathan approaching. 

“What is the matter?” Nathan asked as politely as he could. He recalled the state that Wade had been left in, and had to concentrate to keep a tight hold on his anger.

“He was going to put that spell back on your friend,” Strange said, gesturing at Nur. “I do not trust wild magic. I have placed your friend under stasis instead. We can search for a solution in Waterdeep.”

“Take off the stasis and he can die at any time,” Nur disagreed. “He never wanted to die.”

“Given how you dispelled it on him, I’m not convinced that he will not die in his current state if you put it back in place,” Strange shot back.

“Dayspring, you decide,” Storm suggested gently. 

Nathan stared at Wade’s still, fragile frame, and sighed. “Nur, thank you. I will try Waterdeep.” 

“I thought you would say so,” Nur said. “Very well. Send word to me if you need me there, and I will come. I redeem my debts, Dayspring. No apology would make up for what I have done—” 

The sorceror paused at the sound of approaching footsteps. A messenger was scrambling towards them, his thin face drawn and pale. “Lord Nur! Lord Nur! Neverwinter is invading! Battleships in the harbor!”

“Ah, Lord Stark,” Storm said, and smiled.

#

Wade was waiting for in the corridor outside the War Room in Tyr’s chapterhouse at Waterdeep, sleek arms crossed. He was heavily armed, despite the protestations of some of Tyr’s followers. Wade took delight in being a barely welcome guest in the House of Tyr, unfortunately.

“Wade,” Nathan greeted him. The armour-uniform of the Grimjaws was ornate but serviceable. It was heavier than Nathan’s usual set. Over the overlapping shoulder plates was the symbol of Tyr, linked by a chain of office. Nathan had refused to change his broadsword. 

“Hey,” Wade said. He looked better. His hair was even growing back in a dark fuzz over his skull. Lathander’s priests had stabilized his condition, but the damage done to his mind over the wild magic could not be undone. “Levelled up?”

“How are you feeling?” Nathan asked. It was better to just ignore Wade’s occasional odd statements. 

“Better. Just bloody peachy. Bored as hell too. Especially since you won’t let me go into Undermountain and Skullport. I mean, what’s the point of being in Waterdeep if you don’t go and start a tavern-sword-sorcery adventure in Skullport?” 

“There were formalities—”

“Yes, I know, you needed to level up and it takes forever.”

“—before I could receive the Grimjaws’ official acceptance and attend to my own affairs,” Nathan said affably, placing a hand over the small of Wade’s back. The assassin stiffened, his grin sharp.

“So I’m one of your affairs?”

Nathan leaned over to kiss Wade roughly, bending Wade against him as hands curled over his shoulders. When they broke, Wade blinked slowly. “O-kay. I guess this is where we cue the happy ending.”

Nathan chuckled, resting his forehead against Wade’s. “Let’s go to Undermountain.”


	9. Synthetic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Spider Jerusalem does a piece of Providence and their saviour. Naturally assumes Wade and Cable are a couple. Transmetropolitan crossover. 
> 
> This is pre-actual series Spider Jerusalem, back before the Beast got elected. Also, Spider is slightly ooc here, because I don’t think I have the capacity to pen out his paragraph explicit rants on hookers and STDs and sex. I do, however, highly recommend this graphic novel series for those who can take gratuitous violence in their paperbacks. Didn't exactly get around to writing the article. I tried, but it is hard.

“Here’s what I’ve got.” In my ear, Royce’s voice was a whisper thick with static and a vague sense of worry. Reminded me that I still owed my editor and ‘friend’ a couple thousand words more for this week. “Sometime when you plugged your shit-for-brains into the vid-reality, someone hacked the hell out of your connection.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that seeing as you were enough of a fuckwit to get yourself hooked onto a public vid-reality, in the not-so-secret location of your fucking home in the hopes of fucking finding poisoned needles in fucking haystacks, I’ll be finding myself a new journalist-slave.”

“Wait!” I was crouching in the cleanest looking apartment that had ever been apparently mine. Outside, the world looked pretty damned impossible. “How did you get to me, then?”

“Hacked into your connection the same way whoever wanted to fuck you over did. What’s on the other side? Have you been ass-raped by mutant horned demons?” Royce’s concern could always be so touching. 

“What makes you think that?”

“Because you’re plugged into one of the pre-tech vid-realities. Based on some sort of cheap paper entertainment people called ‘comic books’,” Royce said. “I’ve managed to interrupt the transmission and pre-load you into one of the safer ones, but I’m not sure if it took.”

“I’m so touched.”

“I also gave you an appropriate character ID.”

“Which is?”

“World’s most wanted terrorist. Your vid name’s Cutie Twoshoes. I’ve changed your appearance. Maybe you can hide the fuck down for a while more until I figure out how to get you unplugged without incurring major brain damage. Also, you owe me a couple thousand words.”

It figured. “Can’t I unplug myself?”

“Nope.”

“What if I jump out of this window?’

“Do the words ‘sudden brain death’ mean anything to you? If you fall off a building and die, you die for real. So stay there, play nice, try not to call attention to yourself—”

“—says the person who set me up as a terrorist—”

“—or any more than your persona would suggest. Write a fucking column on the place. Get shitfaced on drugs, kick some kittens, I don’t care what you do there. I’ve already moved your body someplace secure and I’ve got people working on the connection. You better have my godsdamn column when you’re out.”

“What happened to you looking for a new journalist-slave?” I asked.

“Already tried. Nobody bit.”

The connection clicked off. I grinned. Commercial-based concern was the only concern I could trust.

A quick look in the mirror in the neat bathroom showed that Royce had a more fucked up sense of humor than I’d thought. A fruitless search of the single closet displayed a lack of any sort of black clothes whatsoever. Deciding to vent my frustration on the world, I stalked over to the balcony to relieve myself on the heads of unsuspecting passers-by… and screamed.

#

I hate it here.

I’ve seen shit like this before, ‘course. In some of the Cultural Reservations. Even this place down in Georgia that I had to royally fuck up with random bowel disruptor dispensations, napalm sticky gum and a web broadcast of myself doing certain things to an organic Elvis lawnmower. ‘Providence’ was, however, the real fucking deal, if more synthbot than human in participation numbers. Para-fucking- _dise_.

The synthbots had faint blue lines around them, thanks to whatever Royce had hopped into my world terrorist avatar. They were all normal human shaped. No weird enhancements, horns, third mouths, nothing. Even the few real humans I passed by looked human. Everyone, synthbot to real human, was doing the laughing-smiling-mommy-daddy-smurf routine. Oh Gods. Save me.

I wished I still had my bowel disruptor.

Even with the synthbots, the streets weren’t choked full of humanity either. World was a sort of wide town planning, low-rise hippy deal full of holistically designed parks with no whores on the street corners or pushers under the benches or kiddies shooting at each other with cancer darts. No police presence. No screams. No profanity. To my right, there was a couple necking it out politely before a giant pastel mural of ducks and chickens and a mutant looking mouse. Kids were talking seriously with a synthbot of an old woman about her hobbies, a couple of boys were helping an elderly man across the street without filching his wallet, nobody was visibly on drugs, on SPKF’s payroll, mutated, transient or outwardly fucked up. 

I sank down on a park bench, my head in my hands and my thumbs shoved into my ears to prevent my brains from leaking. 

Royce was trying to kill me.

Galvanized, I charged over to the fountain, shouldering through an aerobics class full of synthbot women with unnaturally perky breasts. I climbed up onto the marble fountain in the center of the park, ignoring how my white robes were getting wet and how people were starting to stare. Balanced precariously with one foot on cupid’s head and the other on a stone dove’s ass, I spread my arms wide.

“None of this is fucking real!” I yelled.

Couple of the real humans turned to give me a look, but all of the synthbots just kept on walking. I tried again.

“Somewhere in the real world your kids are growing up and fucking up on fifty kinds of brain drugs you can buy off the streets with no ID. Nearly all of them can synthesize them into water in twenty-four hours. You’re all going to elect a monster to take charge of your fucked over world and you vote only because you get fined if you don’t. Most of you probably don’t even give a flying fuck who’s in charge as long as you can go home to your stone-dead sex and your stone-set work hours. You don’t care who’s in his administration or who he’s already fucked over and you won’t even see it when he fucks you over—”

Hands politely clapping broke me out of my diatribe. I looked down, white pants and robes gently wet.

It was a synthbot, but a different one. This one was dressed head to toe in some sort of sheer red and black fabric paired with heavy gloves and boots. He the sort of person I would’ve worked over with my special setting on the disruptor out in the real world. The white slits for eyes were wide in what looked like amusement. Unlike all the humans and synthbots in here, this one was armed with a set of katanas on his back and guns at his hips.

It was outlined in yellow.

“Never thought I’ll meet someone interesting in here,” the synthbot said cheerfully, “even though I think I saw Marilyn Manson apply for refugee status last week. And I saw Captain America working on a mural the other day. Not that he’s really that interesting.”

A corrupted synthbot. This could be good.

“Also,” the synthbot said, “it might be me, but the crazy religious fanatic talk seems to have turned a little non-religious and salty since the last time I heard one. How’d you got refugee status but not Manson? Not that I’m deriding you or anything, but jeez, Nate has got to have some standards in smurf land, right?”

“But you’re here,” I pointed out. My fists itched for my disruptor. Or better yet, a couple of guns.

“I’m here because the guy at my usual typewriter probably took an extended potty break. Once he comes back, you can be sure me an’ the old yellow boxes will be sent packing back to my Character Building Seedy and Suspiciously Spacious New York Apartment.” The synthbot extended a gloved hand upwards. “Name’s Wade Wilson, Deadpool. You think this place is too good to be true? You and me both.” There was a faint quirk to the shadow of a lip under its mask.

“You’re aware that you’re not real?” I asked, deciding to stay on the high ground for the moment. “Shouldn’t be in your programming.”

“Hah! I like a man who’s good with mindfuckery. Ain’t nobody in this programming—” Wade tapped at the side of his head, “—but me and these yellow boxes. You gonna come down or what? There’s some really good not-real chimichangas down the walk with my name on them.” 

Slippers were soaked now. I stepped out of them, took aim, and let launch. One hit one of the aerobics synthbots, the other a synthbot kid chasing butter-fucking-flies with his synthbot sister. Both wobbled a little but continued on their happy-happy programming.

Wade didn’t even flinch, though his grin widened. “Good shot. Specially the kid.” 

“Chimichangas it is.” I hopped down lightly from the statue, grabbed one of his guns, and started rolling and firing. Old guns, one of those with a real kick to your arms on firing. One of the bullets smashed through Wade’s shoulders, which got a blink and a laugh, then the synthbot was doing the bob and weave as good as any of Prague’s Sensors, firing back and ducking behind a trimmed bush. The real humans ran for it, but the synthbots just kept on synthing. Bullets pelted bloody holes in them that just kept healing back up. None of them were programmed to die yet, or even notice as bullets stitched into trees and smashed the cupid on the fountain.

Wade was singing something as he fired back, loud and pitchy, “Santa baaaybee, a ’54 convertible too, light blueee, I’ll wait up for you dear—”

I was a little less creative, concentrating on the maniacal laughing and the satisfying boom and kick of the gun. Up until it was jerked out of my hands. Behind a tree, I could see Wade pout as his was picked up as well. The synthbot looking up with a scowl.

“Nate, why do you always have’ta spoil all the fun?”

“Having a water pistol fight in Central Park is a little disruptive,” the synthbot called Nate said disapprovingly. His blue outline was brighter than the others and crackled over him. To my sardonic amusement, the scene had changed somewhere along the line. Instead of people doing their thing while we had our fight, there was now satisfying amount of milling around. Kids pointing and crying, people shouting, all drenched with water from what now looked like obvious plastic water guns. 

Every vid-reality had a master synthbot, one programmed to alter the reality of the vid to keep it unchanged and stable. ‘Nate’ was probably this vid-reality’s. Big guy in electric blue clothes. White hair, plated metal over the left arm. Glowing eye. Huh. Not very impressive. Weird how Wade grinned, clearly infatuated.

“But fun,” Wade corrected, waving one hand over at me. “Who’s to welcome Cutie Twoshoes over there then?” 

Nate’s eyes slid over me, and I saw what could have been Royce’s hand at work. He frowned and glanced back at Wade. “That’s Joanne Newton you were water fighting with, Wade. Social worker, lives about couple of doors down from your place.”

“Sure as hell ain’t no Joanne I’ve ever seen,” Wade retorted. “Bald, skinny guy with fucked up spectacles and lots of black tattoos?”

Hmm. Corrupted synthbots could see through my Fake Jesus disguise. Score negative one to Royce.

“No, Wade,” Nate said patiently, with a thread of concerned pity. The synthbot most out of synth with this reality was married to the master bot? Could have been some sort of fallout in the coding. Wade looked confused, rubbing at his eyes. Nate sighed again, inclined his head at me, and floated away.

“So,” I said, into the awkward silence, “about those chimichangas.”

“’M seein’ things again,” the synthbot muttered, frowning down at his hands. I walked over, clapped him hard on the back.

“Nope. Everyone else is, though.”

“Yeah, hereabouts, people call this sort of ‘everyone else is seeing things but I’m not’ a bad word. I’ve been losing it for a while.”

“Since you hooked up with Floating and Glowing?” 

Wade blinked at me. He snorted. “Not the way you’re saying.” Wade paused. “You’re saying Nate has something to do with how I’ve been seeing things?’

“Yeah.”

Wade stared, arms crossed, mouth set, then he tilted his head up. “Those things you said.”

“Yeah?”

“True?”

“Yeah.”

“This place ain’t real?”

“Nope.”

“Why are you here?”

“I’m stuck,” I confessed. “Heard the vid-reality’s been used as an information passing hub by some people I want to take down. Went in without any prep or backup.”

“How are you getting out?”

“Got some friends,” I said sourly. Friends who were probably celebrating my immediate brain demise, or doing fucked up things with my unfeeling body with mutant cockroaches. 

“I know how that feels,” Wade said dryly, picking up the tone in my voice. “So what’s your real name? Ain’t Cutie Twoshoes, amirite?”

I paused, thinking this over, but this didn’t smell anything like a Beast-style plot. Man wasn’t this subtle. “Spider Jerusalem.” 

“Pleased to meet you. Let’s go get them chimichangas.”

#

“I’ve got an idea for a way out,” Royce said, ‘round when I had sequestered myself in my ‘flat’, going through the sadly tiny number of available ‘television’ channels. All the violence was tame, all the sex was vanilla. I was sharpening the toilet brush with a shaver.

“You’re trying to kill me. If I get back from here,” I said, with feeling, “I’m going to shove your fat ass down your toilet and have cancerous cats shat on you until you drown. After I give you your fucking couple thousand words.”

“You finished the column?”

“Yeah. I’ve got an eight-thousand-word screed about vid-reality utopias so let me out of here by all that is fucking holy and sacred.”

“Somehow I don’t believe you,” Royce said, amused. “You got to be hated to write anything good, and where I shunted you that shouldn’t have been a problem. I bet you got three lines, and it’s all about food or a rant about how if society wants to be utopian they’d better just fucking pray and then shoot themselves in the face with a machine gun.”

Fucking Editor was getting good. “I can write the good article after I bust the Beast’s info network onto its gangrenous ass.”

“Deal. Here’s what I’ve got. You know how humans usually get themselves out of a vid-reality? There’s a switch in their minds that they can flick on or off. Yours is stuck on the ‘on’ switch. Unless you can get something to flick it off for you. Something in the vid world.”

“Which means, in English?”

“You have to get one of the synthbots to switch you off. Most of them don’t have brain processes, but there should be a handful of higher end synthbots out there that have some kinda artificial intelligence.”

“There’s something you’re not telling me and I can sense it a mile away from here away from my brain, Fucking Editor.”

“Yeah,” Royce admitted, “It has to be self-aware. Anything else might kill you. Some of the synthbots get that way now and then. Usually, they’re disposed of after a while, but I think the Master synthbot of your vid-reality might be protecting this one. Go shake up some bums or a mental hospital, I don’t fucking know.”

Great.

Or.

Maybe not.

“You mean Wade Wilson?”

“Who?”

“I think I see a way out. Prepare yourself for the cancerous cats.”

“Fuck you, come out fast and write your fucking column.”

#

“You want me to kill you?” Wade frowned when I told him about it after, having invited him up to my apartment for some fake beer that had come out of the fake fridge.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that.”

“What if I don’t want proof that all this isn’t real?” Wade muttered, looking indecisive. “I mean, I like the yellow boxes and the fourth wall thing, and this sensation that I’m always being watched over by lots of young women who love me more than Wolverine. Pretty special and weird all at the same time, but seriously. I’m already fucked three ways to Saturday. If you want me to kill you, I’m going to be kicked out of Providence. If you’re not here, and if this isn’t real, will anyone even notice?”

“Your boyfriend will,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, but will he notice _notice_ , or will it be the _notice_ notice, you got it?” Wade’s tone rose slightly and then wavered. “Also, he is not my boyfriend. Fuck you, why should I get thrown out of paradise for you?”

“Do you think you’re real?”

“Hell yes,” Wade said sharply, though he looked uncertain.

“There’s real and then there’s real,” I said, lying through my teeth. The sensation of assholeness felt absolutely familiar and comfortable. “Millions of actual fleshbags live each day on the real world in their clockwork lives and they call that living, never doing one single thing just for the damned hell of it. You’re programmed to live here in your happy clockwork vid-reality life that wants to keep people like me who connect into here around as long as possible. You want to prove you’re real, then switch me off.”

“Just because I can?”

“Yeah.” Somewhere along the line, bullshit had smelled a little less like bullshit, and it seemed to hit home. Wade squared his shoulders. 

“Let’s get this over with. What do I do, fingers in the mind meld position or what?”

“I don’t know,” I said, irritated, “My Fucking Editor’s not great at specifics. I’ve already told you all he said about it and honestly I don’t know if this is going to fucking help or if it will kill me dead, and the only thing that makes me think it’s the latter is because I still owe him some work.”

“Mind meld position it is,” Wade said, not without a little glee, gloved fingers pressing warmly against my face. “Okay. By the way, can you do one thing for me?”

“What?”

“Find the guy with the typewriter handling my story and kick seven kinds of shit into him.”

I looked Wade over. Red and black skintight uniform, something slightly uneven looking about the texture that spoke of scarring or deformities under the fabric. Stuck in utopia with only his mouth for company. “Sure.”

“Here goes.” Wade took in a breath and squeezed his eyes shut.

#

So help me God, I hate it here.

I sat up in the tub, mutant cockroaches crabbing off me at the sudden movement. I looked my tattooed cockroach-bitten hands over and leaped to my feet. “Fuck yes!”

Royce was armed in the doorway to the bathroom with clothes and my bowel disruptor. He had a gun of his own and looked wary. “I hid the batteries to your weapon. By the time you find them, I’ll be long gone.” 

“Fucking Editor, I love you.”

“Tell that to me when you’ve finished what you owe me. Also, while you were dicking around in Happy Marvel Land, I got a lead on which vid-reality the Beast’s network’s in.” Royce’s grin turned sharky. “And where their bodies are when they’re dreaming.”

“Hand me that bowel disruptor.”

#

Because I can.

Wade wasn’t sure right now why he had said it, even when he was sent packing off the island on the first ship. Hells, he wasn’t even sure why he had killed Twoshoes. He hadn’t had anything against the man, and more importantly, he hadn’t been paid to have anything against the man.

Maybe Nate was right, even though he hadn’t said it. Wade was too fucked up to live in paradise. 

He sat in his cabin, boots on the wall and guns still packed underneath him. Felt something sharp poke into his palm.

Frowning, he pulled off his glove. Pressed against his palm was a piece of paper.

When he unfolded it, it was a photograph, of a bald man in black tattoos holding a silver, bulbous gun pointed at a man’s arse. His victim looked somewhat the worse for wear, creatively and grotesquely so, and towards the camera, the man was holding up a small laptop. The last line read:

“Wade [Looking up]: Because I can.”

Wade turned the photograph over. There was a signature in black, cramped and scribbled which read “Spider Jerusalem.”

Vaguely comforted for some odd reason, Wade looked at the graphic photograph again, scratched at his head, and folded it into a pouch. Somehow, he had a feeling that everything was going to get better in the end.


	10. Channel Surfing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Sex on Wade's Couch.

“You want to say it. Just say it.” Wade changed the channel. Hmm. Discovery Channel. Nicely ironic. _Click._

“Can you stop doing that while we're, ngh—“

“Doing what?” Wade asked innocently. Weather report. Storms coming, hurricane warning. Hmm. Weather report's Personable Girl needs a better haircut. _Click._

“Watching television when… aah…” Nate moaned against Wade's neck. He lapped up skin scoured and pitted by tumours to an ear, but stopped his slow rocking against Wade's hips. “I’ll leave.”

“You won’t,” Wade purred. He twisting to edge away from the metal hipbone digging into his thigh. “And we're doing this because you like doing it slowly, but when you do it slowly, Wade's megawatt brain goes into hyperdrive. And when that happens you get pissed off, and then I don't see you for a week. You savvy? I savvy. Don't get me wrong though. This is good.” _Click._ “Keep going.”

“If you wanted me to go faster, you could have told me,” Nate muttered. He curled his fingers into Wade's hips, pausing when Wade grabbed his wrists. 

“Hey, I wasn't complaining. This is good.” _Click._ “Television plus couch plus Nate with everyone naked.”

“Deep down, you're a—”

“Terrible slob, yes. Little more to the right.” Click. “The Simpsons! Love the Simpsons. No mood though.” Click. “Ah, more like it.”

“What in the world?”

“Da da da… star gentle uterus, make up!” Wade paused. “And before you say anything, my brain did not come up with that.” 

Nate groaned. “All right. I'm leaving.” 

“Nooo. I didn't mean it. Swear to God.” _Click._ “Ooh, trippy Cadbury commercial... Nate? Nate?”


	11. Open Letter to Fans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Wade writes fanfic.

Dear Deadpool's Fans,

I really appreciate the positive thoughts you’ve been sending my way. Especially those where your favourite Merc with a Mouth gets to use said mouth on any number of hot Marvel characters. They’ve been a real comfort in the long, lonely nights of Simpsons reruns. D’you guys know the X-Mansion doesn’t have fucking Netflix? Professor says it’s not ‘conducive to a learning environment’. Shows you what century _he’s_ stuck in.

Please however stop mailing me letters with questions about the intimate relationship I have with Nate. He’s shy. Don't let the random stripping to shower in other people's company fool you.

Anyway, as a big thank you to my fans, here's a story I wrote while I was in L.A. recently on a stakeout. 

♥ The Case of the Missing Cookie Jar ♥

Deadpool was making a peanut butter jelly sandwich in the X-Mansion's kitchen, surrounded by X-babes, when X-babe #2, aka Jean Grey, Nate's Sort-of Mom, realized that the cookie jar was missing. Everyone was in a panic, because the cookie jar not only had cookies but also contained Gambit's spare deck of cards (the limited editions, in case of emergency). So Deadpool decided to put on his thinking hat and help out his fellow X-men. :D

Why do they call themselves X-men anyway? Isn’t that gender discrimination? Shouldn't it be X-people? Hell, why didn't they all just correct their names to X-Force, which rolls off the tongue? Or X-Calibur, or any of the other trite names that Xavier probably thought of when he was high on coffee? X-avier. :) 

Anyway, the X-people were fairly–yes, I can rename people in my fic if I want to, think of it as artistic license–agreeable to Deadpool exerting his considerable smarts in this case. There were prints and different scents around the area where the jar usually was, so Logan wasn't helpful. Seriously, why is Logan the most popular X-person? All he can do is heal and pop claws. Is it the claws? Would it help if I got myself implanted with claws? I know a handful of crazy doctors out there who might do it for cheap.

Marrow said that she'd last seen Bobby around the jar. This started a hissy fight between Marrow, Bobby, and Kitty Pryde. Kitty’s parents definitely didn’t love her, by the way. If your name is 'Pryde', calling your daughter 'Kitty' is child abuse. Think of all the shit she'd have had to go through in elementary school. Hell, naming your daughter 'Kitty' probably sets her up for life as a porn star, okay? #DEADPOOLFACKKS.

Gambit opens his mouth and says, why not have Jean take a peek into everyone's mind? Whoever had last taken the jar would immediately be obvious, he says, quote, mon ami, unquote. Some girls seem to go for the smarm and cards. Scary thought. Yeah, great idea! Let’s breach everyone’s personal privacy for cookies! Awesome idea, cherie. 

Anyway, Jean takes a look. Naturally, no one's thinking of jars, except maybe me and Logan. Because of our healing factors, we can't be mind-surfed, see? And between me and Logan, nobody can believe that Logan eats anything other than steaming raw red meat or something. Just as I was about to defend myself (I was PRETTY SURE I hadn't taken the cookies), Nate floats in, puts down the cookie jar, and floats out. YES, YOU, NATE. THE THINGS PEOPLE THINK I DO BECAUSE OF YOU. YOU SO TOTALLY OWE ME. I MEAN, YOUR MOM WAS READY TO GIVE ME THE SMACKDOWN OVER A JAR OF GODDAMN COOKIES. 

Just so you guys know, whenever you think old Deadpool is up to something, IT'S ACTUALLY NATE.

And if you’re reading this, you jerk, you may come over and kiss up. Or I'll sicc my fans on you.

Love, Wade.


	12. What Is, Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Wade is the crazy ex-bf who comes back from the future. Role switch between Wade and Domino.

Surprisingly enough, a large degree of nothing happened on a tropical island whose only real rule was ‘Don’t do evil’. As Providence’s Chief of Security, Leader of the Six Pack, and all-round permanently hired mercenary, Domino now spent most of her time being incredibly bored. 

Domino lay on the roof of Central Communications, sunning herself. In her next life she was going to be reborn as a fucking cat at this rate. Beside her, Garrison Kane was already asleep and snoring gently. Stationed around vantage points in the rest of Providence, the rest of her crew were probably doing the same. Their instincts, weaponry, and training were rusting gently along with their brains. Mercenaries did not thrive in peace.

Sometimes Domino wondered if this was just subtlety at work from their employer. Pay was pay though, and work was thin on the ground lately. It was kinda futile going about paying mercenary groups to incite or put down strife nowadays. A certain all-powerful and mind-reading Someone would just float by and set everything United-Nations-shaking-hands straight again. There was still run-of-the-mill security gigs, but Six Pack didn’t go for the small time.

“I hate my life and love it at the same time,” Domino said aloud.

“Preach it, sister,” Kane said. His big rifle was being used as a goddamned pillow. If that wasn’t going soft, Domino was an fucking marshmallow.

It had to be Cable and his subtlety. Goddamn it. 

“Yeah. You and your, ‘I finally have a stable job, so I can keep stable girlfriends’,” Domino said snidely.

“Hey, don’t diss it until you try it. There are some damned fine ladies on this piece of rock. I could even introduce you to them if you want.” Kane kept his eyes closed. “Or have you tried getting it on with the boss?”

“Course not,” Domino said.

“Why not? He’s hot. He’s rich. He owns an island.” Kane waved a foot at Providence.

“I can’t believe you just said he was hot.”

Kane shrugged. “Oprah said he was hot so it must be true.”

“Since when did you watch Oprah?”

“Since you started taking this job and I started to keep normal eating hours?” 

“He’s not interested in anyone,” Domino said reluctantly. She’d hit on Cable once to annoy Cable’s perfectly coiffed secretary Irene. Cable had been so polite and good-natured about it that rejection hadn’t even felt like rejection until five days and a couple of beers later. Even then it had only been funny. Hadn’t hurt. 

“Anyone, or just you?” Kane asked.

“We have someone watching him at all times. All he does in his free time is do weights, eat, sleep and read Dostoyevsky,” Domino said, irritated by Kane’s bluntness. Didn’t people like the toned-babe-with-a-gun look? Usually?

“Constrictor and I always thought you were holding out. Nevermind.” Kane started to stretch luxuriously, then he went still. “Do they repaint murals in Providence?”

“Not that I know of, why?” Certain murals—particularly the pink-bunnies-and-laughing-girls one on the Eastern Park—gave Domino the fucking creeps. Sadly, vandalism was non-existent on Providence. 

“I don’t understand art, but I’m pretty sure that’s not someone being abstract.”

#

Cable turned an interesting shade of pale when Domino showed him the photograph. She’d found him coming out of a conference room in the Administration Sector. Cable might be the Second Coming but if he had been Adam, Hammer had once told Domino, all the animals would have been called shit like Four-Locomotive-Legs-Two-Foot-Horns.

“Where did you take this?” Cable asked.

“Kane spotted it. Intersection of Meadows Lane and Fern Street.” Two-Locomotive-Wings-Six-Inch-Feathers. “Sir?”

Her employer had already begun running. Belatedly, Domino followed. “Cable! Wait!”

Cable floated out of the next window. Way to leave a girl hanging. Goddamn it. Domino stared down twelve stories, wished she hadn’t had double enchiladas for lunch, and pressed her fingers to the comm link at her ear.

“Yeah?” Solo sounded irritated.

“Get over to Meadows on Fern.”

“Any reason?” Solo asked hopefully. A counter-terrorism expert was really wasted in a post-Cable world. 

“Babysitting.”

Solo sighed. “I’m on it. Solo out.”

Domino took the lift, got to her bike, and made it over to the intersection. Cable was staring hard at the vandalised wall. Solo was perched on a park bench behind him. The usual crowd was already gathering around Cable. Awed hangers-on and prepubescent fans. 

Some of the graffiti had already been washed off the mural. The symbols that still remained were made up of glyphs with dots and crosses and squares and half-triangles. It had been sprayed onto the mural in bright pink. 

Solo motioned Domino over as Domino awkwardly parallel-parked her bike instead of rolling it up over the nearest patch of grass. “Don’t those signs look familiar to you?” Solo asked.

“Aliens?” Domino guessed hopefully. She pitched her voice low even though she knew it was pointless. Cable was one of the world’s most powerful telepaths.

“No,” Solo said condescendingly. For a man dressed unselfconsciously in bright green spandex, Solo could still be a pompous ass at the best of times. “Here’s a hint. It’s on a very big desk full of endless paper. And Dostoyevsky novels.”

Domino squinted. Cable’s desk. The symbols on the nameplate. “Someone wrote ‘Cable’ on this wall in future hieroglyphics?”

“It’s written in Ask’ani,” Cable said quietly, his voice absolutely flat. “A phrase. ‘What is, is.’” 

“So the culprit must’ve been someone who saw your desk. Could be anyone.” Solo perked up. Man loved his conspiracy theories.

“What does the extra symbol at the end mean?” Domino asked. The glyph was a circle split into two, with two downward dots in the centre of each half. “That wasn’t on your desk.”

“It means nothing.” Cable was a terrible liar. “Please alert me if any further messages are written.”

“Cable, wait!” Cable ignored them as he levitated away. Domino cursed under her breath. “Now what?”

“You’re the leader.”

“Did he just tell us to oversee the well-being of creepy murals? I fucking hate some of these murals.”

“It’s not that bad,” Solo said. “Something happened that ruined our employer’s day. Someone who can write in future script. Someone Cable knows. Someone who can get under Cable’s considerable radar. Sounds good to me.”

“Under his radar?” Domino asked. People milled around the ruined mural before deciding to work together to clean it up. 

“Why ask us to keep watch if he could catch the perp himself? Isn’t the Bossman more powerful than Professor Xavier?”

“Someone from his future, d’you think?” More time travellers? Great.

“Hah, if only. Nothing that interesting happens here. What were you doing when Kane called this in?”

“Sunning. You?”

Solo pulled a face. “Getting some kid’s goddamned cat out of a tree.”

“Let’s catch this guy and beat the hell out of him,” Domino said fervently. 

“Great minds, o leader, great minds.”

#

Domino secured the Black Box’s grudging help and posted Six Pack into mural-watching shifts. Even Cable got into the act, if furtively. Other volunteers searched Providence from corner to corner, but there was no sign of their fugitive mural destroyer.

Two mornings after the first vandalism, a second mural was found defaced. Another set of Ask’ani symbols had been written with neon blue paint. A replay of the Black Box’s footage showed a normal mural, then a defaced mural at 0300 hours. No transition in between. The graffiti wasn’t, and then just was. Like stop motion. Like magic.

Domino hated magic.

“Same person did it,” Anaconda said. 

They lounged against a fence and watched the cleaners make short work of the symbols. Domino studied her photograph of the glyphs. New phrase. Cable hadn’t been forthcoming. Cable had in fact promptly disappeared and now wasn’t answering calls. For a big man who glowed blue in the dark, Cable could be surprisingly hard to locate on a tropical island when he didn’t want to be found. Irene had already called Domino several times to complain.

Domino wasn’t being paid to stick to his ass like a limpet, thank you. She was here to keep the peace.

Even if it was a nice ass.

Obviously, genius.” The same circular symbol was marked at the end of the phrase. It was obviously a signature. Solo was probably beside himself in conspiracy theory glee. “Have Solo organize a bigger civilian’s watch and distribute pagers. We can’t be everywhere by ourselves.” 

“Why Solo?”

“Because little kids approach him to get their cats out of trees?”

“So?”

“Has any brat asked you to do that?” Domino looked Anaconda pointedly up and down. Anaconda towered over Domino, a florid, big man in green and yellow spandex with a huge mane of yellow hair. 

“No. Point taken. What are you going to do?”

Domino grinned. Just because she was stonewalling Irene didn’t mean that Domino didn’t know where Cable was. She’d spent some time secretly installing a microchip tracer in his favorite belt. For insurance. “I’m going to go and get instructions.”

“As in, politely, or in the ‘we might all get booted off this island’ sort of instructions?” Anaconda asked sadly. “Because I like it here, boss.” 

“Trust me.”

“I’d better start packing.” 

“Just go talk to Solo, damnit.” Domino walked briskly off to her bike. Three streets, one rooftop, and one creative bit of climbing later, Domino found Cable meditating on a curved ledge beside a crystal spire. 

The rasp of her boot on the ledge made Cable look up sharply. “Wade?” 

“Who?” Domino edged out carefully onto the crystal, trying her goddamned best not to look down.

“Ah. Domino.” Cable couldn’t quite hide his disappointment.

“This is a bad place to sit,” Domino said. She leaned back slowly until her shoulder blades touched the glass. Cable hadn’t sensed her coming. He was that distracted? Interesting. 

“I know,” Cable said.

The silence stretched. Domino squared her shoulders. No backing off. “Someone you know is redecorating, hm?”

Cable tensed, but didn’t answer. 

“I knew it,” Domino said. Technically it was Solo’s deduction, but Domino wasn’t above claiming credit. “Dangerous?”

“Very likely.”

“From the future?”

Cable flinched. He scowled and looking down over Providence, which was answer enough by itself. “Yes.”

“Enemy?”

“No… I don’t know,” Cable said, distracted. 

“Angry ex?” Domino asked playfully, trying to lighten the mood. 

Cable’s fingers curling tight into the crystal. Bingo. Not that Domino had been expecting that. Luck could be an inconvenient superpower sometimes. “So. No beating this person up?” Domino asked.

“I don’t recommend it,” Cable said, solemn. “You won’t be able to hurt him, and he’s dangerous.”

Him. ‘Wade’. Angry ex. Sounded like it’d been messy. No wonder Cable hadn’t been interested in anyone else. “Right. So. Bad break up? Who broke up with who?”

“Is this really necessary?” Cable sounded resigned.

“‘Course. We work better with more data and all that.”

“I suppose technically I did.”

“How do you ‘technically’ dump someone?”

“When you travel to the past and leave them behind?”

“Oh, right,” Domino said. “Didn’t have time to say goodbye or what?”

“I left a note explaining my motives.”

“Amazing.” Men were idiots, even men who owned an island. “Do tell.”

“Matters wouldn’t have worked out.”

Men were idiots, _particularly_ if they owned an island. “Soooo any idea why we’re looking at colourfully defaced murals instead of an all-out screaming lover’s tiff?” That would’ve been pretty entertaining too.

“It’s his way,” Cable said fondly.

“So what did the second phrase say?”

“‘All things come to an end.’” Cable’s lip curled. He twisted his fingers together. 

Domino had a bad feeling. “Did you put that in your note?”

Cable glanced at her. “How did you guess?”

“Can I say something to you without possibly getting fired?”

“What?”

“You’re a jackass.”

“Thanks,” Cable said dryly. “I feel better already.”

“Don’t mention it.” Domino tapped at her lip. “So, this guy. Not harmless.”

“No.” Cable stared down at his island, still tense. He clearly hadn’t slept well since the first graffiti incident. There were dark circles under his eyes. “In my future, Wade was a Hunter-Killer. Specialists trained in assassination and sabotage, in the war against Apocalypse and his Sentinels. He was very, very good at what he did.”

“I don’t see the problem,” Domino confessed, confused by the mixed signals. “Just explain things and make up and the graffiti will stop, right?”

“Wade opposed my mission to change the past,” Cable said heavily. “He wanted to preserve our future. That was why I had to leave when he was away on a mission.”

“What, why? Isn’t your future royally fucked up?”

“Wade said he didn’t want to risk making a future where we might’ve never met. Whatever the circumstances. I don’t want to fight him. But if he pits himself against what I’ve built… what I intend to build in the future? Then I’ll have no choice.”

There was going to be some action at last. Solo was going to be so pleased.

#

“Image inducer? Invisibility cloak? Enhanced structural reconstruction suits? Teleport belt? Personal self-interfacing nanocomputer? Synth-human speed enhancements?” Solo looked betrayed. “Cable’s been holding out. I haven’t even started on what this guy’s supposedly packing as his weapons.”

Other than Hammer, who was on babysitting duty today, Six Pack had convened at their unofficial open-air office on the wide balcony off the third tower of the Administration sector. Domino had gouged a description out of Cable. Not that it mattered, because Angry Ex was radar and sensory invisible when he wanted to be. _And_ he could change his face at will thanks to the ‘image inducer’.

Judging from Cable’s vague explanation of what his ex’s toys could do, Wade Wilson’s weapons could handle anything from quiet assassinations to Sentinels. In the future, weapons were awesome.

Grizzly looked bored, lounging in the shade of a carefully groomed tree. His fuzzy orange arms were folded over his heavyset chest. “So we can’t track down this guy and can’t take him one-on-one. Great. Which means even if we find him, we’d only be able to watch him paint future smilies. And we’re assuming he doesn’t get bored of defacing public paintings and start, I don’t know, blowing up the generators. Or whatever you’d do to sabotage a giant artificial tropical island.”

“Or we can lure him out and jump him all at once,” Kane said. He’d never had much patience for subtlety.

“Yeah, like how? Tie down the Great Leader in a park with pink ribbon and a card?” Anaconda asked facetiously. 

“Something like that.” Kane looked over to Domino.

“Oh no,” Domino said.

“Oh yes.”

“Great idea, but since Angry Ex is a guy, maybe Solo should do it.”

“Do what?” Solo asked, puzzled.

“But with your ability, it’s more likely that Angry Ex would be watching from the vicinity,” Kane said smugly. It was always about her fucking ability. Seriously, if being lucky was so hot Domino would’ve scored a rich boyfriend years ago and retired in the Bahamas.

“Watching what?” Anaconda asked, confused as usual.

“Watching me stick my neck out for the team by pretending to fawn over our Great Leader? Won’t work. There are already people around him all the time. He’s obviously not interested.” Domino pointed out.

“Nobody’s kissed him before though.” Kane grinned evilly. “In public.”

“Because he has a personal all body fly zapper that extends to things that are human-shaped?”

“Get him to turn it off first.” Solo made an odd gesture around his brain. “It’d be absolutely believable.”

“We’re leaving out the part where I get fragged in broad daylight and in public by his ex,” Domino said sourly.

“If he comes out to kill you, we’ll all jump him,” Grizzly said reasonably. “Also, you can probably trust Cable to shield you up if he has to.” 

Probably. 

“And, this will annoy the hell out of Irene,” Kane said slyly, “especially if you don’t tell her about it first.” 

Kane had a point. “Fine. I’ll go talk to the employer and see what he thinks.”

“Great!” Solo beamed. “I’ll go polish my rifle.”

“Cable doesn’t want him dead,” Domino reminded them with a grimace. 

Kane held up his hands. “We promise that Loverboy will only be mildly singed.”

Theoretically speaking, this was a good idea. Even though it reminded her why Six Pack didn’t go for the small time. Tiny, intricate, and subtle really wasn’t in their nature. “If I die, I swear I’m going to haunt the hell out of all of you for the rest of your lives.”

#

Locating Cable to ‘Discuss Matters Via the Mind Thing’ took more effort than it should. Cable was perched on a girder somewhere in the skeleton of an upcoming observation tower. Off hours, the work site was empty save for the evening security roster. Apparently, her employer had decided to lurk somewhere on the top left corner of the building.

Great.

The construction lift would be too noisy. Domino scaled the edifice of steel fingers and concrete blocks as quietly as she could. Near the top, over wraps of canvas and scaffolding, she could vaguely make out Cable’s outline.

Then her ability kicked in. The space beside Cable blurred. A man faded into view, crouched on the scaffolding, his back to Domino. She hastily hid under a coil of copper and its tent of protective canvas. The stranger wore a blood-red mask and heavy boots. A pair of blades was sheathed over his back. He was wrapped in a worn cloak of gray scales that occasionally turned chameleon against the girders and the night sky. 

“I remember you liked high places,” Cable said. He sounded tense.

“I remember you didn’t. Also, I’ve told you before that the word is ‘vantage point’,” Wade said.

“Two words is a phrase.”

“Whatever.” Their sniping was worn and comfortable. 

Cable stayed tense. “When did you arrive?”

“Been a week.”

“A week?” Cable echoed, surprised. “Far from here?”

“Nope, right under your nose,” Wilson said cheerfully. “Al and I shacked up in some sort of common room thing and interfaced with local technology.”

“That explains your language,” Cable said. “You interfaced with the Internet?”

“Punched us clean out for three days. It was great. Al picked up some colorful speech impediments. Nothing a little threatened rebooting can’t fix.”

Somewhere against Wilson’s person, something said “Asshole,” in a tinny computer voice.

“Was it enlightening?” Cable asked. 

“Could say that,” Wilson said. “Could say I don’t understand why the hell you’re still here.”

“My mission hasn’t changed.”

“It’s also done fuck all for our future so far, by the way.”

“I’ve thought that through. Apocalypse is only one threat. With humanity on its current path, it’s entirely possible that it’ll descend to something akin to our future without Apocalypse even ever having to lift a finger.”

“Great! Let’s go back.”

“‘Great’?” Cable’s patience was turning fragile.

“If everything’s going to work out the same way with or without Apocalypse, there’s nothing more for you to do here.”

“I’m trying to change more than one mutant’s rise to power. I want to prevent humanity’s self-destruction.” 

“Are you really?” Wilson shook his head. “I took a good look on the Internet. This timeline is even more fucked over than the one we came from.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Sure you can get some big shots to shake hands and make nice, but what about all the families out there that abuse their kids? The woman who gets stoned to death while her rapist goes off with a fine? The people starving to death all over the world?” Wilson took in a deep breath. “Our world made a hell of a lot more sense than this one. Don’t even get me started on racism.”

“I thought I’d just start by fixing the bigger problems.”

“And the small ones will just work out by themselves? You can’t change people by yourself.”

“So what are you suggesting?” Cable could sound deceptively calm when he was obviously getting angry, and this was one of them, the only danger sign the coldness in his voice.

“I’m saying that obviously, our species isn’t functional when there’s way too many of us.” Wilson’s tone was challenging. “When Apocalypse was the only problem and we were an endangered species, life wasn’t all roses and fucking cockleshells but at least we weren’t screwing each other over shit that doesn’t matter. Hell, at least half of the poor bastards you’re trying to help won’t give you the time of day if they found out that you spent the last five years of your life in the future doing the horizontal tango with another guy.”

“People change,” Cable said stubbornly. “I believe they can change.” More softly, “You did.” 

“Don’t start with any of that sap unless you’re coming back with me.”

“I wouldn’t have just left a note if you’d made the effort to understand my motives.” Cable was getting points for listening, but losing a lot of points by being a jackass. Domino facepalmed as quietly as she could.

“Yeah, don’t remind me about this ‘only a note’ business,” Wilson growled. “Are you coming back or not?”

“No.”

“So what would it take? Do I have to scuttle this place?”

“Don’t you _dare_.” 

Wilson laughed. “You’re sooo hot when you’re angry. See you later, love.” 

Cable exhaled loudly. Wilson was gone, then. About bloody time. Domino was developing a severe cramp in her ankle.

“Domino.”

Busted.

“Yeah?”

“The park idea wouldn’t have worked,” Cable said. 

‘It wasn’t my idea’ somehow came out as “You sure about that?”

Cable was still staring out over Providence as Domino uncurled herself from under the canvas and brushed dust off her knees. “I think I know what he might hit next.”

#

Domino sat on the ledge of the embankment circling Prosperity Park (seriously, Prosperity?) and watched volunteers circle the wreckage with pastel blue bunting. Providence did not have police tape. Hell, the only security forces around were Six Pack. It was becoming abundantly obvious that they couldn’t police an entire island against a trained saboteur.

“Funny how we were all totally wrong,” Solo said.

“Wrong? He blew something up.” Domino scowled. Her reputation was on the line. Cable’s ex was showing them _all_ up.

“The boss had us watching the generators and the food production plants, not construction projects.” Wilson had even bothered to kidnap and move the night crew to a safe location. Then he’d taken down the building in a way that had caused a controlled structural collapse. Nice and neat. Nobody had gotten hurt.

“Point being?”

“Notice how he was careful not to hurt anyone?”

“For now,” Domino said darkly. Tractors and cranes finally rounded the corner, trundling slowly towards them. “This might be some kinda final warning. He’s an assassin.”

“He doesn’t know how our world operates. And he probably has some other agenda. Why else would an assassin go to all this trouble not to kill anyone? Solo asked. 

“You’re only doing this so everything will be more complicated. You like complicated. He obviously didn’t kill anyone because he didn’t want to completely piss Cable off.” 

“Exactly. He’s just trying to scare Cable into listening to him.”

“Cable doesn’t scare easily. He just gets mad. And then things get broken.”

“I’m sure Wilson knows what he’s doing,” Solo said. He looked back at the wreckage even as Domino’s commlink pinged her.

Domino activated the link. “Yeah?”

“Stop staring at ground zero. You’re gonna be late for the security meeting that the Big Boss is calling,” Solo said through her earpiece, as condescending as ever. “What are you doing? Is there a hot piece of fireman ass there or something?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Domino looked sharply at the man next to her, who was still studying the salvage effort. “Domino out.”

‘Solo’ smirked when Domino pressed the edge of her blade to the nape of his neck. “Hey, pretty lady. You might want to watch it with the sharp toys.”

“Language searches indicate that ‘hey pretty lady’ is an outdated greeting with sexist overtones,” Computer Al said, somewhere from Wilson’s wrist.

“I’m just stating a fact!”

“Asshole,” Al said.

“I swear I’ll reprogram you with a screwdriver.” ‘Solo’ glanced up at Domino apologetically. “Sorry about that. Rogue tech.”

“What are you doing here? Enjoying the show?” Domino demanded.

“Don’t people like to hang around pretty women any longer?”

“Slimeball,” Al told him.

“Don’t give me that shit,” Domino said, ignoring the crazy computer. She used her knife to prick a slit in the back of Wilson’s mask. “Does blowing up a would-be library get you off?”

“The things you don’t want to know about what ‘gets me off’,” Wilson said. He didn’t move away from the knife. “You don’t fit here either, do you?”

The question hadn’t been what Domino was expecting. She hesitated. Wilson’s hand jerked back, grabbing her wrist and twisting to yank her knife free. The knife flashed up to her throat in his grip. Too close. Too late. Wilson grinned and stopped the blade an inch away from Domino’s throat. He sheathed it back in her boot, turning away to lean against the ledge.

“That was harassment,” Wilson’s computer informed him accusingly.

“Rack it up against my score. Do I get a name, lady?”

“Domino.” Domino said warily. Wilson was scarily quick.

“That can’t be your real name unless your parents hated you.”

“I won’t tell it to your image inducer.”

The quick smile fell. “You don’t want to see what I really look like.” 

“Hasn’t Cable?”

“Nate? Hell yeah. But he’s different. You’re from this fucked up time period. I’ve got scars in places you won’t imagine.”

“Not everyone in this time period is as fucked up as you think.”

“Really. There are people dying in civil wars you’ll never hear of in the mainstream news. Kids dying of hunger and unclean water. You do anything to help them out?”

“Most people don’t.”

“Exactly. You know all of this shit but you can turn the other damn cheek, maybe give a little bit of money once a month at most. You go home and sleep easy at night. Now if that isn’t fucked up, I don’t know what is.” 

“Compared to having most of humanity eradicated?” Domino retorted, her eyes narrowing.

“Seems to be the only way for our sentient species to work out its Man-is-an-island bullshit.” 

“I don’t see you going to help out the civil wars and starving kids. Worse. You’re getting in the way of a guy who’s actually trying.”

“I’m not intending to stay here. Not for long. And as to Nate, he’ll see things my way after a while.” 

“You don’t sound so sure. Cable won’t go back with you,” Domino said. At the mention of his name, Domino felt a familiar, touch on her mind that quickly flinched back as the link cut itself off.

Wilson was watching her face very closely. “Guess it’s almost time for me to beat a quick strategic retreat.” His playful grin looked three kinds of screwed up on Solo’s irritating mug. “Here’s a tip. I know Nate a lot better than any of you do. And I play dirty.”

“If I try to kick your ass, will I win?”

“Nope,” Wilson said cheerfully. “It was nice talking to you.” The image inducer flickered. Solo’s frame disappeared. Under Wilson’s red mask, his mouth was twisted upwards into a grin. Pale blue lines splayed over the cheeks of his mask and parts of his arm. Inset over his left palm was a metallic dome that glittered restlessly with shifting points of light. 

“Name’s Neena Thurman,” Domino said softly, as the small crowd around them noticed the change and started to mill around in confusion and panic. “You’re right. I don’t belong here.”

Wilson’s mouth softened into a faint curve. “‘Bye, Miss Thurman.” Wilson leaned forward, pretending to peck her on the cheek. He pulled his cowl over his head and vanished. 

From the finger pointing and the looks of herd animal awe on the faces she could see, Domino could guess who just arrived behind her. “I rather like him,” Domino said.

“I know,” Cable said coldly.

Domino turned. Cable, the Savior of the World, looked as though he had just swallowed a mummified rat. “You’re seriously jealous?” 

Oh, this was rich. If it didn’t involve the immediate possibility of unemployment.

Cable scowled at her. He grit his teeth and looked up at the sky, already preparing to leave. “Next time,” Cable said flatly, “contact me immediately when you find him.” 

Domino watched Cable go, bemused. “Low tactics, huh. Just don’t get me fired, asshole.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” The words were whispered behind her. When Domino whirled around, there was only an expanse of perfectly trimmed grass.

#

“Did you hear the part where I asked you not to get me fired?”

“Said I was keeping it in mind, right?” Wilson, this time in the guise of a civilian, settled down comfortably on the chair opposite Domino. “How did you know it was me?”

“Nobody else just walks right up and sits down at my table,” Domino said. She was working on her second helping of chilli con carne with nachos. Lunch at this place was far too good to be spoiled by random assholes. “You eaten?”

“Nope.”

“Try the catfish, it’s awesome.” 

Wilson grinned. He was dressed in a loud blue and pink tie-dye shirt and Bermuda shorts, and looked like a stout middle-aged redneck. Domino didn’t want to know where Wilson was getting all his reference illusions from. “Feel free to order for me, ma’am.”

“It’s Neena,” Domino corrected. She waved over a waitress and ordered a couple of spicy hot chocolates and one fried catfish with seasoned rice. 

“Then you’ve got to call me Wade.”

This was getting way too comfortable. Hell, she’d never even asked Cable to call her Neena, and she counted him as a pretty good friend. “Shouldn’t you be somewhere plotting the end of paradise?”

“I can do that while eating. Have to admit,” Wilson said, filching one of her nachos, “this is one thing that’s good about the past.” 

“What do you eat in the future?” Wilson’s mouth blurred very slightly when he popped in the nacho, but other than that, the inducer was perfect. 

“Protein cubes.” Wilson made a face as he munched. “When I woke up after the three-day internet crash course, I staggered out and ordered a ‘hotdog’. Nearly passed out from the first bite.”

“It’s Providence, but you still need an iron stomach sometimes with the street stalls,” Domino said sympathetically.

“No, no. You don’t understand. Protein cubes are tasteless, and I’ve been eating them since I was old enough to take solids. When I ate that hotdog, I nearly died. In a good way. Al was busy telling me about all the disgusting shit that goes into street stall hotdogs and the percentage of bacteria on the thing, but my brain was in nirvana and my mouth was in heaven.” 

“Dysentery,” Al muttered from Wilson’s wrist.

“If you let up a bit on your return schedule I could take you around,” Domino offered carefully. 

“Nice try.” 

Wilson perked up as the food came. At the first bite, let out a satisfied purr and closed his eyes. Domino snickered. “You and your plate should get a damn room.”

“Try growing up on protein cubes,” Wilson said. He started to stuff his face and talk at the same time. “Oh Gods. It’s amazing. Is it like this all the time whenever you guys eat? How do you get anything done around here?” Domino found herself scooping part of her lunch onto Wilson’s plate for him to try. “What d’you call this kinda food?”

“Mexican.”

“I think I’m in love,” Wilson announced, through a mouthful of seasoned rice. 

“Enough to leave this place alone?”

“You’re persistent,” Wilson said, shoving nachos into his mouth. “Why hasn’t Nate shown up yet? Gone off to save the world again?”

“Nope. Hanging out on high buildings, actually,” Domino said. Wilson didn’t even blink. “I got him to stop keeping a permanent tab on my brain.”

“You did?”

“With a lot of work, no thanks to you.” Domino took a sip of the hot chocolate. “I can buzz him if I need to. Why?”

“Want me to tell you a secret?” Wilson grinned, finishing his catfish in record time and starting on the rice. “Since you got me some great food.”

“Your ex is a telepath.”

“But a real polite one. I’m actually here on official business.”

“Don’t see Apocalypse around.” Carefully, Domino pressed the edge of her palm down a little harder than usual on the table, switching on her hidden commlink. She felt a faint touch on her mind, then a projection of irritation. Envy. 

Cable had it bad. If only he wasn’t such a jackass. 

The touch on her mind felt like it was settling in to listen. Good.

“Yeah, well,” Wilson didn’t seem to notice Domino’s distraction. “When the bosslady, who I might add is really scary when she’s stressed, goes ‘Go back into the past and find Greymalkin, and then dig out the synth-matrix subscale roteform’, you go, ‘Yes ma’am’.”

“You? Bullshit.”

Wilson grinned “Yeah, actually what I did say was, ‘No thanks, I like it here’. Then she did the ‘You will do this or Hope will die and it will be your fault’ guilt trip. Low blow, that one.”

“Hope? Are we talking metaphorical here?”

“Nope. Little girl. We found her in a raid on one of Apocalypse’s stasis prisons. She was ‘bout five months and a little of age. Prettiest little button you’d ever see.” Wilson’s expression softened as he spoke. “Also, supposedly, the next coming of Christ or whatever, if you’ll believe some of my people.

“She’s a seer. One morning she got a little too far in one of her dreams and wouldn’t come out. I was going to go dig up one of the remaining telepaths left in the future, but the bosslady wanted the roteform for something else anyway. Other than performing emergency psych healing. And of course the only roteform remaining is in goddamned _Greymalkin_. Apocalypse took over the bit of the world which still made the damn things a while back and toasted it.”

“So you didn’t come back here over Cable?” 

“He made his choice when he left, didn’t he? He’s a big boy and he’s entitled to it,” Wilson said bitterly. “Besides, I never thought it’ll last as long as it did anyway. Not a lot of people go for my sort.”

“Scarred and cynical?”

“Hah! No. Everyone’s scarred and cynical in the future.”

“Then?”

“Hunter-Killers are dead men walking,” Wilson said. “Not a lot of people want to get involved with us. Suicide missions, one after another. Hell, ‘bout a couple weeks before I had to come here, my immediate superior in this business died out in buttfuck nowhere with nobody available to go and bury him.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be, he did what he wanted to do. Where were we before I got maudlin?”

“About how this isn’t about Cable?” Domino said skeptically. “Why don’t you just tell him what you want from here, take it, and then go back?”

“Because taking out the roteform will stop your infrastructure?” Wilson waved a hand over the street. “Your power, the water systems, everything.”

“What? How? What is Greymalkin?”

“You’re standing on it,” Wilson said patiently. “Didn’t you know?”

It figured. So it was island sabotage after all, if for totally different reasons. “And you’re telling me this?” It was taking an effort to keep her hands from the rifle at her back. 

“I just want someone to know why,” Wilson said soberly. “It won’t sink your island, and you can probably get everything back up in a few hours by using plain old generators. I won’t leave a mess. It will, however, stop the bodyslide tech.”

“Means Cable will be stuck here forever.”

“If he doesn’t come back with me now, yeah.”

“You went right past the informed consent and into blackmail? You could’ve just explained everything to him,” Domino said, exasperated. Men. “And then asked nicely?”

“And he wouldn’t have come,” Wilson interrupted, his eyes narrowed. “I don’t want to hear it.” 

The touch on Domino’s mind pooled, saddened and uncertain. “You don’t look like you’re very busy removing a ‘roteform’ to me,” Domino said.

Wilson smirked. “What makes you think that I came here alone?”

#

From the musty air in the belly of the spaceship-turned-tropical-island, Domino guessed that they were probably the first people in here since… Well, since S.H.I.E.L.D. tried to get its hands on Providence and battled X Force in here, probably. She hadn’t really been keeping tabs on global affairs at that point in her life. Solo’s crash course on What Happened Before was giving the team a headache.

Greymalkin was dimly lit, with uniformly similar corridors. Static had killed Domino’s Cable-tracker the moment she’d entered the hull. Given their employer had hared off into the Great Dark Unknown without his paid muscle, Six Pack was now thoroughly lost and annoyed. And, according to Grizzly’s complaints, slightly dehydrated. 

Behind her, Kane was in a bitchfest with Grizzly about going bearform without bringing appropriate rations. Domino came to a stop before yet another intersection of identical metal corridors. 

“This is like one of those movies in a dead spaceship where there are evil aliens,” Anaconda said helpfully. Beside her, Hammer snorted derisively but made no comment. 

“Obviously, this is where we split up. Place is a maze and mapping tech isn’t working. We should’ve brought string or something,” Kane said, irritated. “The only person who can get us out is going to be Grizzly, if he uses his sense of smell. And Domino, if your ability doesn’t decide to go on the fritz.”

“I have some permanent ink markers,” Solo volunteered, rummaging through his pouches. “If you guys mark where you go you shouldn’t get too lost.” 

“How big can the underside of a space station be?” Domino wondered out aloud, exasperated. She hadn’t been particularly interested in following Cable down after his ex, but Solo had insisted and the rest of the gang had been bored. 

Twenty minutes later, having split up with Kane two intersections ago, Domino was regretting her words. The background hum around her was getting on her nerves. She had been down stairs and up slopes and her sense of direction was already totally fucked. With her ability, if there wasn’t a dampener, she should really, really be there by now.

Domino rounded another circular corridor and decided to open a slight door set into the wall labeled ‘Emergency Exit’. It opened into a massive, domed metal room. 

At the centre was a pulsing stream of golden light particles, circling in an endless figure eight within a glass cylinder. The cylinder was hooked up to the ceiling and to the ground with giant coils of metal. Consoles ringed the cylinder and the walls. Holoscreens flickering above them, showing different portions of Providence and the spaceship itself. Typing frantically on the main console, was a skinny man wearing a visor and a uniform that vaguely resembled Wilson’s clothes. Beside him was a small black ship, oval in shape and resting low over the ground on insectile legs. Claws extending from the side of the ship grasped the cylinder gently.

Cable was floating right before her, his hands clenched at his side. Before the typing man was Wilson, his guns drawn. Around the ship, Wilson and the cylinder was a pale purple force-field. Given that the ship was still in one piece, Domino guessed it was some sort of telekinetic dampener. 

Huh. Thanks, Lady Luck.

“Oh. It’s you,” Wilson looked surprised. “Weasel, your security labyrinth matrix just failed a second time.”

“Well,” Weasel snapped, evidently on edge, “the first guy who got through happened to know what he was facing. I don’t know why the second breach happened.”

“I’m just lucky,” Domino said, drawing her own rifle. “Now just put everything back where it should be.”

Wilson grinned at her, but there was nothing playful there now. “C’mon, Neena. Did you think I’d tell you my plans before I’d actually completed them? The roteform was transferred into our custody yesterday at about five in the a.m. There would’ve been a split second of power outage.”

“Which we would’ve noticed if we hadn’t been so busy scrambling to get to ground zero,” Domino said. Well played. Wilson _was_ damned good at what he did. “Then what are you doing now?”

“I said I wasn’t going to make a mess. Weasel’s just cleaning up the last of our transference to your generators. We’ve even upgraded them. This shouldn’t take long.” Wilson wavered. He lowered his guns. “You want to come back, it’s now or never, Nate.”

Cable’s jaw was tense. “I was… always going to come home. After I had finished my work here.” 

“Yeah right. Bet you’d just have kept on finding more reasons to stay.” Wilson holstered his guns just as Weasel straightened up from the console and scrambled into the ship. Wilson hesitated by its hull and bowed to them both. “Neena, it was a pleasure. And it was nice seeing you again, a’sha’lo.” 

“This is too fast,” Cable said desperately. He said something else in the alien tongue Wilson had used. Wilson compressed his lips into a thin line behind his mask. “Must you leave so quickly?”

“Maybe you can really do good here. Maybe you won’t. Maybe whatever you do it won’t ever matter because it’ll just shunt this timeline into an alternative timestream. It was your choice to come and it certainly was your choice to stick it through. So I’m just going to ask, without begging, without arguing, are you coming with me or not?” Wade asked tensely.

“I…” Cable’s visible conflict made something in Wilson’s face shut down.

Domino knew that they would both regret this moment for the rest of their lives. If she didn’t try to help. “Wade.”

“Yeah?” Wilson looked at her curiously. “Uh, sorry about going so soon. If little girls weren’t going to die and all that, and if our time travel wasn’t so primitive that we can only latch on to waypoints in the timestream, I would’ve taken you up on that food tour offer.”

“You didn’t ask _me_ if I wanted to come,” Domino said, stepping smartly through the sphere. She’d expected it to zap her, but there was only a warm, static feeling as she passed through. 

Wilson blinked. “I did mention the protein cubes, right? And uh, the death of humanity and the lack of television?”

“You said this world doesn’t make sense. I agree. You’ve said I don’t belong here. That’s true, too. I want to see the future,” Domino said, walking closer. Hopefully, this wouldn’t get her seriously injured by any party, particularly the one who could throw trucks with his mind, “I think someone like you knows how to give a girl a _really_ good ride,” she purred.

Wilson titled his head, studying her. He looked over her shoulder, then he smiled, slow and tired and painfully grateful. Maybe kindness was a rarity even in a place where Wilson belonged. He stretched out a hand to her, his tone amused. “Consider yourself recruited, Neena.”

“Wait.” Cable growled. He gripped Domino’s shoulder tightly. “You don’t want to go.”

“Don’t I?” Domino asked nonchalantly. “I’m dying of boredom in paradise. Besides, if you’re not going, then I might as well see if I can make do in your place. You’re needed here, anyway. I’m not. Don’t you worry, boss,” Domino said slyly, “I’ll take real good care of Wade here.” 

Cable’s handsome face twisted in anger. “Don’t.”

“Why not?” 

“He’s…” Sudden hesitation, though the grip on her shoulder didn’t loosen. 

“You’re not going home with him, right? Why do you care?”

Cable stared at her as though willing her to budge. He let go of her and made a low, animal sound in his throat, all wrenching despair and desperation. His hands clenched tightly against his flanks.

Wilson patted Domino’s arm. “Thanks for trying. But some things you just can’t work out even if you want them to.”

“People change,” Cable said softly.

“You’ve said that before, a’sha’lo.” Wilson didn’t move, as Cable touched his cheek, curling a thumb under the mask and pressing his finger over Wilson’s lips. There were twisted scars in a stitched garrote over Wilson’s Adam’s apple. A thinner scar ran down from under his chin and disappeared up into his mask. When Cable pressed his forehead to Wilson’s with a hoarse sound, Domino looked away, embarrassed to be present.

“Leaving like that was the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” Cable whispered. “Nearly killed me. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Wilson said. “We do what we have to, right? Look. I have to go. Roteforms and orders from Mother Askani don’t wait very well.”

“So soon?” 

“You know why,” Wilson said. He started to climb back into the ship. Cable stood rooted where he was, breathing harshly like his heart was breaking and… siiigh. Seriously. Men. 

Domino rotated her rifle in her hands and hit Cable sharply and precisely on his head with the heavy stock. As Wilson stared, shocked, Domino holstering her rifle and picking up one surprisingly heavy arm. “Are you gonna help me lift him into your ship or what?”

Wilson’s mouth opened and closed, speechless. He began to laugh. “Tempting, but no.”

“What? Why not? Just kiss and make better when he wakes up. He’ll get over it.” Probably in record time, too.

“I can’t. It won’t be right. The past is what he chose and—” Wilson folded, equally unconscious. Standing behind him uncertainly was Weasel, with a heavy tool in his hands.

“Let’s say I agree with you. Neena, was it? Hi. I’m Jack.” Weasel said, looking pleased with himself. At Wilson’s wrist, Al chuckled evilly. “I think I did right. Right?”

“Life function systems on Designate-Wade set to ‘stasis’ for three hundred minutes,” Al said smugly. “Good work, team.” 

“Angst gets tiresome. Get over here and help me with the half metal guy,” Domino said.

“Yes ma’am.” Between the both of them and a lot of cursing, they managed to manhandle Cable into the craft. Then they shoved Wilson in safely. Once secure, Weasel asked, “You coming?”

Domino smiled. “Sorry. This world might not make any sense, but I love it still.” 

“All right. Good luck,” Weasel said, as the hull panel began to slide close. 

“Make sure they don’t kill you when they wake up.”

“They’ll be too busy humping each other,” Al grumbled as the door to the future slid all the way shut.

The hum notched up in volume–the hum that Domino had thought was the heart of the island. The time ship blurred and was gone. 

Domino was still staring at the empty space in bemusement when the rest of her team stumbled into the room. 

“Something happened?” Kane asked.

“We’re out of a job,” Domino said. “I think.” 

“Good,” Solo said fervently. “Let’s go take up a contract to kick some terrorist’s ass. Like finally.”

#

Wade typed into the disposable datapad, cross-legged on the bunk in his boxers and his mask. His lasblades were laid out on the desk and his uniform was strewn in haphazard piles on the floor and chair.

_Dear Neena,_  
_Weasel and his weaselly friends down in Tech have created a prototype method to send things back to the past, so I hope this reaches you in a time period where you know/remember me._

_Firstly… hell, and always, I can’t repay you._

_Nate wasn’t even that mad when he woke up. Hope you guys are doing fine without him, but since the whole world is going to go to hell in a handbasket anyway, I guess it doesn’t matter either way. I wish I had more time to get to know you. Think we could’ve been friends._

_Hope is doing good. Nate’s taken to her quite well. I think he’s even gotten over his ‘Go Back In Time to Fix Things’ phase. Now that he’s back, maybe we can win this war. And it’s thanks to you. You and Weasel. How’s that for minor supporting characters?_

_P.S., I have glued a packet of protein cubes to this datapad next to the shiny gun._  
_Love from the future,_

Wade was signing off when the door to his room slid open. Nate entered, looking far better in combat fatigues than that weird blue and neon yellow getup he’d been sporting in the Past. Wade saved the letter and switched off the datapad as Nate sat down beside him on the bed.

“What are you doing?” Nate asked.

“Writing to Neena,” Wade said. He put the datapad on the ground and allowed Nate to roll him over onto his back. “Weren’t you going on some mission to get, I don’t know, Tony Stark’s Underwear or something?” 

Nate chuckled as he pressed a wet kiss to Wade’s neck, running his tongue over the ragged scar. “Our retrieval missions for meaningful artifacts are meant to be funny.”

“Says you.” The Hunter-Killers had always entertained a more cynical view about morale missions. “I’ve got two hours. Then I have to get to dispatch.” 

“I know,” Nate kissed him. “Be careful.”

“I’m always careful.” It was an old conversation, the same one they had before all his missions, alone in the dark far from home. They stripped down urgently. Nate sifted haphazardly through the top drawer until he found the lube. He slicked Wade up with practiced urgency as they kissed, wet and hungry and sloppy. Nate’s free hand braced hard against Wade’s shoulder, bruising him. Wade twisted up into his grip, teeth bared. Before his missions, he was always in the mood for a rough fuck.

When Nate pushed into him, Wade ground down instantly, so hard that spots danced quickly over his enhanced vision. His mouth dropped open in a soundless cry as he gratefully rode the spike of pain. Nate moaned and snapped his hips upwards. They both knew Wade wanted this quick and dirty. After the mission they could take it slow. Now Wade growled and clawed at Nate’s back, fingers digging into flesh and organic steel. His heels dug into Nate’s spine, trying to force Nate deeper, harder.

Nate’s mind entwined with his. A’sha’lo, Wade whispered, in their minds and between their mouths. _Beloved._ Nate was moving faster, fucking him roughly into the reinforced bunk. It never took long when they were like this, raw with need and lust and pain. Wade let out a hoarse snarl and he was coming, soiling the fingers he had wound around his cock. Nate exhaled, biting down hard on Wade’s shoulder. He ground deeper with a choked groan. 

Afterwards, as Wade waited for his breathing to ease, he watched Nate trace scar after scar on his chest. The products of one too many close shaves and a lifetime’s worth of occasional bad luck. Wade wore them with pride. He’d earned his miracles with them. 

“You’ll be back within the week,” Nate said drowsily.

“Yeah.” Nate trailed his fingertips over the scar tissue on Wade’s right flank, from a shrapnel bomb that had gone off too close. “I’ll be back before you miss me.”

“I’ll miss you anyway,” Nate said matter-of-factly. “I missed you every day when I left. Some days worse than others.”

“Lucky me,” Wade said. Lucky to have Nate and unlucky at the same time. He was never going to be Nate’s priority. But he’d have nearly everything else that mattered. 

Nate nuzzled his jaw. Wade’s commlink buzzed as Wade tilted his mouth up for a kiss. Then he squirmed away, scooping up the comm link. “Going to hit the showers then grab Al from Tech.”

“You overrode the speech malfunctions?”

“Nope. I’ve grown rather fond of it. They’re just downloading what she interfaced to their database. It’s mostly junk, but the Mother thought that some of the vids might amuse the children,” Wade said. 

“I see.” Nate was fairly sure he’d seen Wade sneak into one of the holovid rooms yesterday with the kids to watch something called ‘star trek’. He leaning up to kiss Wade instead, stealing more until Wade got buzzed again and had to duck out.

Once Wade left, Nate got up to use the cleanser. After he dressed, he picked up the datapad from the ground and switched it back on. Nate read Wade’s message and wrote, at the bottom: 

Thank you. N.

Outside, there was still a world to fix. Here and now in all places, where he belonged.


	13. Mail Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Wade doesn't realize that he's being romanced by Nate.

Mail Day #8

Residents of Providence had mailboxes in the Central Post Station. Wade checked his once a week, just in case Bea Arthur ever replied to fan mail.

Usually it was just spam. Yes, there’s spam mail even in Mutant Socialist Paradise. People advertising a new mural up for painting somewhere, new 'community-oriented' cafes, poetry recitals (the hell?), philosophy, yoga classes, any number of feel-good new age saccharine activities that took place on a mutant utopia. 

Sometimes Wade read them, if only because he couldn't get porn in utopia and needed targets to mock or vandalise. Usually, he threw them away into the 'Thank You For Recycling' bins marked for plastic bottles, saving only the choicest for said mocking or vandalism. 

Today, while sorting through yoga invitations, aromatherapy shop opening notifications, wine appreciation courses, and farm animal petting open houses, Wade found a white envelope.

Within it was a dead sunflower. 

Closer inspection indicated that it had been dead for some time and unceremoniously flattened, then soaked in some sort of chemical that made Wade stifle a sneeze. He turned it over for some card or return address. Maybe Wade could steal wine from the wine appreciation course and return napalm to the sender in loving response. Nothing. Wade sighed and threw the whole lot of letters into the bottles recycling bin.

Nate was floating outside Central Post, chatting with an inordinate number of prepubescent to nubile to mature aged fangirls. Sometimes this world had no justice. Nate glided gracefully towards him, trailing clouds of womanly lust. His black shirt left no curve and dip of his perfect physique to the imagination.

“Wade.” 

“If you're going to tell me to put the letters into the green bin instead of the blue one, I'm just telling you straight up that I'm exercising my freedom of speech.”

Nate frowned. “The blue bins are for bottles.”

“Exactly. But shouldn't they have the freedom to be for letters too?”

“I’ll take that into consideration,” Nate said dryly, glancing down at his hands. “Nothing of interest in the mail?”

“Still no letters from Bea Arthur, if that's what you mean.”

“Ah,” Nate said vaguely, already off in Mutant-Jesus-thinkland. Wade took this as a cue to sulk off to the Chattanooga Jambalaya Chocolate cafe.

Mail Day #11

Another blank envelope. Wade dusted it off for fingerprints and was unsurprised to find none. The smartass sending Wade dead flowers soaked in itchy chemicals was taking no chances.

This flattened flower fiasco could not stand. Someone else had to share his pain. Wade wandered down several aisles, found the giant Nate box, and dumped the offending envelope inside.

Mail Day #12

There were chocolates today in a tiny gift-wrapped box, attached to a square white card printed with a smiley face. The left half of the face was crosshatched with pale silver lines. Weird. Was this a threat? Wade stared at the chocolate for a long moment. He picked up the gift by holding the ribbon between his thumb and forefinger.

Never trust anything tied with pink ribbon. _Never_ trust anything labelled with a smiley face. 

Wade sidled over to Domino's box and dropped it in. Problem solved. Hopefully, the chocolates had anthrax cores. Hey, Domino was Lucky™ anyway, right? She probably wouldn’t die.

Mail Day #13

Nate was looking harassed lately. Wade had heard that for some reason, a certain Lucky™ mercenary was chasing Nate's admittedly cute ass with much enthusiasm. Irene was obviously irritated about it too. Not one to avoid soap opera drama when it was happening in real life, Wade had to admit he was rather enjoying it. Nothing much else that was actually exciting happened on Providence anyway.

More chocolates today. Seriously. These things had better be coated in the ebola virus. 

Wade sidled over quietly to Domino's box and put it through the slot. He turned around to find Nate watching him. Arched eyebrow, crossed arms. 

Busted. 

“I can explain,” Wade said, palms up. “All women like chocolates, and uh, they seemed to be going to waste, and uh... her box is way closer than Irene’s.”

A weird expression went over Nate’s face, then he sighed. “At least it wasn't Irene’s.” 

“She's allergic?”

Nate had already floated off. Rolling his eyes, Wade managed to get his hand into Domino's box. He fished out the chocolate, and spitefully slotted it into Irene's. Wade had never really liked her anyway.

Mail Day #14.

A full-scale catfight in Nate's office yesterday had been the highlight of Wade's week. Even though the catfight hadn’t involved a) nudity, b) hair pulling or c) mud, but Wade would take what he could get. Nate attempted to mediate. Wade had sniggered at Nate's bemused expression when both women had demanded that he choose between them. He’d laughed so hard that he'd fallen off his perch on the sofa when both women had brandished familiar chocolates-with-pink-ribbon as 'evidence'.

Sadly, Nate had firmly booted him out of the room at that point. The ebola chocolates were _awesome_. 

No chocolate today, only a highly disturbing stuffed voodoo doll dressed up in a very accurate Deadpool costume. Wade knew that it was a voodoo doll because a) it was human shaped, and b) had no hands or feet, only rounded, fluffy stumps. 

What the hell. A magical threat? Wade was fairly sure that T-Ray was out of commission. He was also pretty sure he hadn't offended Dr. Strange recently. 

This had to be disposed of safely. 

Wade stripped the doll of its miniature katanas and guns, closed and locked his mailbox, then took off on a running sprint. He didn’t stop until he reached one of the more secluded parks. Placing the doll down on the sandpit, he set it on fire with his lighter.

Watching its white button eyes melt with a sense of satisfaction, Wade startled when Nate asked, “What are you doing?”

“Disposing of a voodoo instrument, obviously.” Nate could be so oblivious sometimes.

“It's a doll. Of you.”

“Well yes, what I just said.”

“…Nevermind. Try not to set fire to the rest of the park, please.”

“You are such a worry wart.”

Mail Day #15.

Blank envelope again. Expecting a dead flower or worse, maybe a pressed scorpion, Wade opened it cautiously with a knife.

Some restaurant's business card and a scrawled time and place. 

Huh.

Wade considered the possibility that he could a) napalm the place at the designated time and b) not get caught by Nate, decided that the possibility was too improbable, and put the card back into the envelope. 

This time, he slotted it into Wolverine's mailbox. The man was hardly ever on Providence anyway.

Mail Day #16.

No crazy mail today. Wade was somewhat disappointed. He’d been looking forward to the crazy mail. He’d even narrowed down his pool of possible suspects. The old lady that lived across the street always gave him the evil eye when he greeted her with friendly slaps over the back.

On the way back to his apartment, Wade checked on the old lady. Still alive. Hrm. 

Wade let himself into his apartment by scaling the sheer wall and somersaulting up and onto his window sill. The tiny scroll of paper that he’d slotted into the main entrance was now on the floor, even though the door was shut tight. 

Unsheathing his katanas, Wade sidled into his apartment. Empty. Checked the bedroom. Clear. Kitchen. Clear. Bathroom—

Someone had gone nuclear on red and white roses in the bathtub. Petals floated on still-warm water, freshly drawn. There was a pail of ice with a bottle of champagne next to the tub. From this angle at the door, it looked like a pool of blood and bone flecks. 

It took an hour of curses and scooping for Wade to flush all the petals down the toilet. He emptied the bath water and scrubbed everything down, just in case there were laxatives or diarrhetic agents in the water or something. Then he passed the champagne back to the old lady. 

“I’m watching you,” Wade growled, as he handed the bottle over. 

She hit him upside the head with her purse, screeching something about perverts. Elderly people had so many Issues.

Mail Day #17

Wade arrived today to find Nate waiting for him at his mailbox, hands casually folded behind his back, probably to watch and see if he redistributed any crazy mail. “Morning, Priscilla.”

Nate inclined his head. “Wade.”

No crazy mail today either. Wade didn't want to admit it, but he was definitely disappointed. He sorted through all the junk mail for Bea Arthur letters and paused when Nate placed a Smith & Wesson 9mm pistol over his mail, complete with a silencer. Wrapped in pink ribbon with the smiley face card.

“You're getting those too, huh?” It was a rather nice gun. 

“Getting what?”

“Creepy mail from the Pink Ribbon Voodoo Stalker. How come you get cool shit and I get chocolates and dead flowers?” 

Nate sighed. “Wade.”

“What? And before you say anything, I know the blue bin is for bottles—“

“I’ve been the one placing those gifts in your mailbox.”

“—and it's a freedom of speech thing... whaat?” Wade stared. Nate merely looked long-suffering. “ _You're_ the pink ribbon voodoo stalker?”

“Yes,” Nate said dryly.

“So what did I do to piss you off lately? Was it what I said to the Norwegian princess the last time you did a surprise bodyslide? Because she was totally coming on to me.”

“No, Wade.”

“Oh, I know. You're mad because I went on that Jakarta job without telling you I was still doing the pay-per-stabby.”

“I'm not mad at you.”

“Then?” 

“I think, just very possibly, that any form of subtlety proves futile when it comes to you.” Nate reached out, yanked Wade close, and kissed him hard on the lips. Lots of tongue. 

What?

Wait.

This was nice.

What?

Whaaat?

“You could'a just said something,” Wade muttered breathlessly when Nate let him up for air. “How was I supposed to know?”

Nate opened his mouth, closed it, and smiled instead. “Lunch on me. Hotdogs.”

“ _Now_ we're getting somewhere.”


	14. Scientific Research

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Wade is curious about just how far the TO virus spread. Nate shows him by stripping down completely.

“Soooo,” Wade said, as Nate started to sip his coffee, “if the TO virus is over half of your body, how do you pee?”

Nate levitated the cup out of range and began to mop down the mess with tissues. Luckily Irene had called it a day fifteen minutes ago. Nate’s throat burned from taking coffee down the wrong way, and the confidential reports he’d been reading about Sahelian conflicts were possibly now beyond salvage.

“Wade!”

Wade grinned evilly. “Looks hella itchy. Do you only have one TO ball? Because that has to be really weird in your pants. What about your feet? Does being half TO make you half a shoe size bigger on the metal foot?”

Nate pinched at the bridge of his nose. Wade circled over to perch on the table like Hell’s own canary, arms stretched over his knees. Even within this distance, the mercenary smelled of gunpowder and sword oil. “The infection is uneven.”

Wade looked impressed. “So, _two_ balls of steel?”

Nate sighed.

“Ooh! All your rod and tackle? Because that would be awesome. You should totally get it immortalized in a mould. What about your toes? Do you get metal toes?”

“Weren’t you going to attend the starlight cinema event?” Nate asked, reaching for more paperwork.

“Nope. Did you see the schedule? It’s all ‘arthouse’ French romantic films. Means no big explosions. I don’t understand the point of a movie if it doesn’t have explosions. What else are they doing with the production budget? Anyway. We were talking about your TO meat and two veg. Stop changing the subject.”

“I have a United Nations conference to prepare for.”

“So?”

Nate looked pointedly at his work, but Wade tended to ignore obvious hints once he had latched on to an idea. Two pages into a report and Wade was _still_ carrying on his one-sided discussion of the potentiality of metal genitalia. Nate gave up. He closed his folder. “If I show you the extent of the infection, would you leave me to study in peace?”

Nate had half expected Wade to bolt. Wade rocked back instead, flat-footed on the desk. He grinned through his mask. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

The man was incorrigible. Nate got up, rolling his shoulders to ease the cramp from being hunched over the file since dinner. He started to pull off his shirt.

Wade whistled. “Aww. Flesh belly button. Disappointed.”

Boots were next, laces undone with the help of a little telekinesis. Nate shucked them off, then peeled off his socks..

“Metal toes! Cuuute. I bet you have the worst case of cold feet ever.” 

Wade’s chatter turned hesitant when Nate began to work on his belt buckle. As the belt clattered to the ground, Wade said soberly, “Just so you know, this is a bit of fun, right?”

Nate regarded him mildly. “In my timeline nudity isn’t taboo.”

“Wow. The Far Off Future and its Buck Naked Soldiers. Includes women?”

“Everyone.” Nate stepped out of his pants, folding them up neatly and levitating them to the chair.

Wade had shut up completely. This was usually a bad sign. Nate philosophically removed his boxers anyway, also folding them and moving it to join his breeches and shirt. “Happy?”

“Uh.” Wade coughed and stared at a point below Nate’s waist. “Flesh rod and tackle. Seriously disappointing, Priscilla. Metal nipple though. That has a few plus points.” Nate waited as Wade hopped off the table and circled behind him. “Metal buttcheeks. Wow.”

“Wade.”

“Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

“Testing a theory.” Wade said innocently, his gloved hand still splayed on Nate’s ass. The left side. “Are you half metal inside?”

“Some of my body organs, yes.”

“So your balls could still be theoretically metal inside?” Wade’s hands were moving, sliding up front. Wade’s body was so close, the heat from it palpable even in the pleasantly warm conference room.

“Wade…” Nate breathed. Wade’s long, nimble fingers slid down over the jut of his hip to his inner thighs and to his balls, cupping them carefully. “What are you doing?”

“Scientific research,” Wade said cheerfully. His body was now pushed up flush against Nate’s back. Something hard and hot was pressing into the cleft of Nate’s ass. “Feels a little too normal to be metal inside. Seriously, Nate, I was expecting a metal Little Nate. You’ve let me and our side of the species down.”

“You’re obsessed with genitalia.”

“Lots of people in this time period are. You’ll get used to it.” Fingers encircled Nate’s cock and stroked as Wade’s breaths deepening against his spine. Nate felt frozen to the spot as pleasure rose in a lazy coil under Wade’s sure touch. He found himself taking a sharp intake of breath as a gloved thumb rubbed over the very tip. “It’s a good and bad thing.”

“W-what is?” Nate’s voice hitched.

“Being obsessed over the ugly bits. Sure, don’t get me started on old dudes who want to regulate ladyparts. But this? It’s kinda like birds showing off their feathers. It’s competitive. Very natural,” Wade said. The hand fondling Nate’s balls slid away, stroking between them to rub curiously over Nate’s hole. 

Nate moaned. The strokes over his cock grew rougher, long and glorious. Sex in the future had always been an economical and efficient affair. Some habits had carried over when Nate had arrived in the past. Nate might not take the business of sexual affairs as seriously as people in this current timeline did, but he also wasn’t sure why he was just allowing Wade to touch him. Wade’s constant chatter was a distraction. Pleasant as his voice was.

Gloved fingers splayed, measuring Nate against Wade’s thumb and outstretched little finger. Wade exhaled loudly against Nate’s spine, returning to the rough stroking that was disassembling all of Nate’s concerns about UN meeting prep. “Jeez. You ever fit all of that into someone before?”

“I haven’t… ngh… had complaints.”

“Shit. I can believe that.” Wade was breathing harshly against Nate’s back, his hips rubbing slowly over Nate’s ass. Wade slipped a hand up to Nate’s metal nipple and rubbed his thumb against it. “Huh. It really reacts.”

“It’s still part of me,” Nate said. He was moving against Wade’s rhythm, even as his own hands remained clenched at his sides. “Wade.”

“Yes?”

“Have you satisfied your curiosity?”

“Nope.” Wade smirked against Nate’s shoulder. “It’s been very edifying so far and I think I’d like to graduate past heavy petting into a thorough exploration of certain orifices. For the good of baby seals, reforestation, humanity and all that.”

Nate gave up to inevitability and reached behind him with a growl. “Good.”


	15. A Little Appreciation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Wade and kittens.

Nate was somewhat surprised to find it raining kittens in his conference room. It was late in the afternoon, and while he never knew what using bodyslide tech might turn up where Wade was concerned, kittens were… new.

Wade looked up guiltily, baseball hat drawn down over his face. The image inducer flickering from one borrowed face to another, betraying Wade’s tension. In his arms, a handful of kittens squirmed and yawned and clawed at his jacket. There were five kittens of various breeds. One enterprising orange kitten flopped out of Wade’s arms to waddle up to Nate’s feet, sniffing at his boots.

“…Do I want to know?” Nate asked dryly.

“I might of rescued them,” Wade said defensively. He set down the kittens on the conference table.

“From what?”

“A petshop.”

“Is this where you say ‘rescued’ but mean ‘stealing’?”

“‘Rescued’ as in R-E-S-Q-U-E-U-D. Look at this one.” A white Persian was thrust up to his nose. Close up, the kitten’s eyes were reddish and gummy with yellow discharge. The cat smelled of scat and unclean litter. “They were going crazy in there.” The Persian was placed back on the table where it purred under Wade’s petting. 

“Sorry, Wade. It’s just…” Nate trailed off. He picked up the orange kitten and set it on the table with the others.

“Yeah, yeah. I know what you’re going to say. I just felt like it,” Wade said, scowling. A gray kitten with folded-back ears and inflamed paws began to mewl. “I’ll, uh, I was going to get them homes, so they won’t be any trouble. How was I supposed to know that you were going to bodyslide? Warn a guy, jeez.”

“There’s a veterinary clinic in Providence.” Nate relented. It was a little difficult to argue about the morality of stealing when faced with evidently sick kittens and Wade with puppyish image-inducer eyes. “I’ll help you take these there.”

“You’re sooo nice. Even if this is probably part of your Messiah package.” Wade was scooping up the kittens into his hat. “Here.”

“You’re not coming?”

“I’m going to go back and get the puppies, find out where the mills are, and then—”

“Wade.”

“If you tell me violence doesn’t solve anything I can tell you straight up that it totally does,” Wade said. His grin wavered under Nate’s steady stare. “Okay. I won’t do anything violent? Promise?”

“All right. Look, Wade, I feel as sorry as you do about these, but—”

“Yeah, I know.” Wade smirked as Nate leaned over for a quick kiss. “Hmm. You get turned on by other people’s messiah complexes?”

“Just thought a little appreciation could go some way.” Nate took the kitten-filled hat. “Coming?”

“Said I wasn’t.”

“How are you going to get back without bodysliding?”

“Have teleport belt, will travel.” 

“No violence.”

“I already promised,” Wade said, peeved. “Honestly, Nate. You don’t trust me?”

“Sorry. Come back before dinner and we can go someplace nice,” Nate offered by way of a truce. He watched Wade grin as he activated his belt.

“Cross my heart and hope to die…” 

“…but I might of called friends who didn’t make sappy promises,” Wade said, as he materialized back in front of the petshop. From the sounds of it, Squirrel Girl was already getting started.


	16. Three Degrees of Separation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Wade x Cable x Wade, multi-universe adventure.

The idea had actually been Hayden’s. On hindsight, Hayden’s ideas usually had horrific consequences. R.I.P., Mrs. Lopez’s chihuahua. 

“What happens when you say, ‘bodyslide by three’?” Hayden asked.

“Obviously it won’t work,” Wade said. Wade and Hayden had long given up trying to kill each other. Nowadays they went for a Katz sandwich about once a week, because horribly disfigured mercenaries with misunderstood senses of humor needed to stick together. Nobody in this particular Katz Deli even gave them a second glance any longer.

“You’ve tried it, huh?”

“Actually no,” Wade said, economically scooping falling cheese and packed roast beef with gloved fingers.

“No? Why not?”

Wade never wanted to admit that ideas of Hayden’s had never occurred to him. For one, Hayden never forgot anything embarrassing or ego-stroking, ever. “Well. Nate’s only ever used the ‘one’ or ‘two’ setting.”

“So?”

“So there must be a good reason?” Wade guessed. He was losing the conversation. Worse, Wade was getting curious. “I might end up in the bottom of the sea. In space. In Wolverine’s underwear drawer. Also. There’s only two of us with my DNA structure, not three, so, only the ‘two’ works.”

“But you haven’t tried it.” Hayden could be fucking relentless when he wanted to, even over the edge of an overstuffed turkey and cranberry melt. 

“Because it didn’t make sense to try—”

“Since when did you ever not do something because it ‘didn’t make sense’? Who are you, Spock?” 

“It won’t work,” Wade said firmly. “Okay fine. I can try it later. If something horrible happens, you’ll buy me lunch and coffee and dessert the next time.”

“Lunch and coffee. And if something good happens, it’s your shout.”

“Deal.” Wade bit into his sandwich. A second thought occurred to him. “Also, if Nate gets pissed off, I’m telling on you.”

“Snitch!”

“It’s your idea.” 

“Fine.” Hayden grinned smugly. “You’re getting worrrrried. Somebody thinks it will wooorrrk.”

As he polished off his sandwich, Wade muttered sulkily, “If I die, you don’t get my katanas. Bodyslide by three.”

There was a blue haze, and then there was one. Only one deformed psychopathic mercenary left at the table, that is. 

Hayden grinned triumphantly. “Free lunch!”

#

“… whoah. Well, what do you know,” Wade said. He patted his gloved fingers clean on his pants. He, or rather they, seeing as Nate was beside him and wearing his best ‘Nate is Distinctly Unamused’ face, were alone in a derelict apartment with skeletal, bombed-out windows and a debris-strewn floor. From the window, he could see other less-inhabitable buildings. Skeletons of metal and concrete dotted a blasted gray wasteland.

The apartment looked lived in, for want of a better word. They stood on a tattered carpet that had seen better centuries, and there was graffiti scrawled in slogans and odd jargon in bright neon hues over the walls. There was a couch before a television set with a broken screen. To Wade’s right was a door, presumably the exit. There was a room further in with a torn mattress on the ground, neat sets of weaponry, and a rack of red spandex suits that looked suspiciously familiar. Patchy and frayed as they were.

“Wade. What did you do?” Nate asked with studied patience.

“Uh. It was Hayden’s fault, I swear!”

“I’d like to see how that could be the case, seeing as Hayden’s been dead for a couple of years.” Familiar Demee Moore voice, out from the bathroom, “Seriously. Can’t a man take a dump in peac… _Nate?_ ”

Wade found himself staring at Wade. 

He looked older, somehow. There was something about the hardness of his eyes and the growing hunch on his shoulders. He was thinner, his patchy boxer shorts hanging loosely off narrow hips.

Wade watched disbelief chase joy to curiosity all the way to suspicion, then Other!Wade stepped forward, one hand tentatively outstretched.

“Wash your hands,” Nate said, without even missing a beat. 

Over the tortured squeal of the tap, Wade rolled his eyes. “We’re in the post-apocalyptic or whatever future. We just met my Other!self. He’s obviously thrilled to see you since you’re probably dead or worse in this timeline or continuity. And the first thing you say to him involves personal hygiene.”

“It’s important.” Nate said, though the tips of his mouth twitched upwards. “Let me guess. You did the slide by three.”

“Uhh. I’ve said it was Hayden’s fault, right?”

“Yes, Wade,” Nate said, with a heavy sigh. Other!Wade turned back around, about to wipe his hands on his shorts. Under Nate’s steady stare, Other!Wade rolled his eyes and did so on a marginally cleaner flannel rag hung next to the sink instead.

“Didn’t realize I missed even that,” Other!Wade said. His voice held a frank and disturbing degree of warmth that would’ve made Wade’s hair on his arms stand up, if he had any. This deformity thing really stretched his ability to have clichéd body language responses to verbal stimuli. “Alternative reality Nate and me?”

Nate inclined his head. Wade grinned and extended his hand to shake. Other!Wade took his palm with a firm grip. “Hey, sorry about dropping in on you like this. It was kinda an experiment.”

“No problem,” Other!Wade said. “Wasn’t up to much.”

“By the way, do you have any cool weapons?” Wade perked up.

“’Fraid not. All the weapons factories have been taken over by the Brotherhood. Everything we have here are old things left over from the Wars. Getting ammo for them can be a bitch.” Other!Wade’s eyes kept getting drawn back to Nate. Wade was getting that ugly, itchy feeling in his trigger fingers. He’d last felt something like that when a talk show host had put his filthy unclean unworthy arm over Bea Arthur’s shoulder. 

Watching himself make eyes at Nate, of all people, was fucked up. Worse even than some of the shiet Wade had seen on 4chan, even. Something must’ve shown in his face. Other!Wade turned to him, surprised. “What, you haven’t jumped his bones?”

“My what?” Nate asked, eternally puzzled by speech anachronisms.

“His what?” Wade yelped, eternally shocked by sudden accusations involving Nate. 

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” OtherWade said cheerfully, clapping Wade on the shoulder. “It took me fucking ages and the end of the goddamn world to do it. Just don’t leave it too late, okay?”

“Why would I… I mean you… I mean I… I mean we…”

Other!Wade smirked. “Because biiiirds dooo it, and beeees doooo it—”

“I have a great singing voice,” Wade said, then the rest of his brain caught up with him. “Did all the women die out in this continuity or something? Because that must really suck. And not just because I wouldn’t be surprised if Marvel went and fridged _all_ their women characters in some timeline.”

“Nope. Have you looked at his ass? Like, very closely.” 

Nate was rubbing at the bridge of his nose as Wade obliged, circling around. “Wade… Wades. I was in the middle of a conference with Congolese rebels.”

“He’s still at that stage, huh. Guess I can’t blame you,” Other!Wade said sympathetically. “Some days he had such a stick up his ass that there wasn’t space for anything else.”

“I see what you mean about the ass,” Wade said, pursing his lips. Hm. Good point. Other!him had great taste. Went with the cool wardrobe and the katanas. Even in the post-apocalyptic future. “Anything else I should know?”

Other!Wade grinned wickedly. “Ever seen him naked?”

Nate blinked. “Wade, I must… what are you… Wade…!”

#

This was wrong in many, many ways past the speed of light.

Which was probably why Wade and Other!Wade were obviously enjoying the hell out of it.

They were on Other!Wade’s mattress. Wade was pressed against the dirty wall. Both Wades had only their masks on and Nate was curved in a tight bow between them, his mouth between Wade’s splayed legs, hands spreading Wade’s thighs to the corners of the mattress. Wade pushed fingers into thick silver hair as he watched himself rock deep and slow into Nate. Nate, of all fucking people, who was clutching at his thighs and moaning around his cock. Hottest thing Wade had ever seen. Period. 

“He likes it slow,” Other!Wade told him, so very nonchalant as he ground all the way to the hilt with each thrust. Other!Wade had a hand locked on Nate’s hip, the other splayed possessively over the TO infection. 

“You bottom often?” Wade asked. He was moving as carefully as he could against Nate’s mouth but Nate easily took whatever Wade wanted to give, sucking noisily. Gods. Wade wasn’t sure which was more pleasantly surprised, his logic or his libido.

“Nope,” Other!Wade said, with an evil smirk crinkly enough that Wade nearly missed his wistfulness. “Nate’s very equal opportunity. Edified future, remember?”

“Ah, right.” Wade tried rocking in a little harder. Nate groaned, exhaling harshly from his nose. He shuddering as Other!Wade reached underneath him to put his petting hand to better use. “Surprised you managed to get him to… ngh… do this. Maybe I leveled up my Persuade at the end of the world?”

“Not really,” Other!Wade said. He twisted and snapped his hips forward, _hard_. Nate choked his shout of ecstasy around thick flesh. “I’ve had the benefit of experience.”

“But why Nate, though? What happened to aah—to Siryn? The others?”

Other!Wade shook his head. “We were pretty blind up until there wasn’t much else left of the world to see. Or at least, I was.”

“I’m sorry,” Wade said softly. Other!Wade’s voice was raw with pain.

“Don’t be. I haven’t had this much fun in a decade.” Another thrust and Nate was writhing between them, fingers clawed against Wade’s flesh, whining desperately and fuck if Wade didn’t get close just by watching. “You done over there, or you want to scoot down under here?” Other!Wade tugged meaningfully on Nate’s cock, and Nate froze, then let out a muffled and strangled noise.

“Haven’t done that before,” Wade admitted.

“Seriously? Man do I have some catching up to do in some timelines. It’ll be great. You still have the healing factor, right?”

“Yes?”

“No problems then. Don’t you want to hear him scream?”

Nate? Scream? “I’m sold.”

#

“Don’t do that again,” Nate said firmly. His voice was hoarse. They’d somehow managed to bodyslide back to their time without further incident. They’d even conveniently ended up in Nate’s private quarters, avoiding scandalising ambassadors and/or Hayden.

“You’re just saying that,” Wade said. He grinned mischievously. 

“One of you is difficult enough to handle,” Nate told him.

“Ooh, so that’s how it is. You were handling two of us pretty damned well not so long ago.” Wade winked.

“Besides, wouldn’t you prefer to be the sole recipient of my attention?” Nate’s lips could go from dour line to sexy smile so damned fast. Funny how Wade hadn’t ever noticed that before.

“You are such a diplomat.” Wade paused. “But you enjoyed it. Admit it.”

“Just come over here, Wade.”


	17. It Was the Worm's Fault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Telekinetic bondage, orgasm denial.

“You're nervous.”

“Yes thank you, Captain Obvious. I am not however, in fact, nervous because my voice is not shaking. I’m not nervous. At all. Haha! Who’s nervous? Did you know nervousness is mostly in your head? Mind over matter. These are not the nervous people you are looking for.”

“When you're nervous,” Nate said calmly, in his oh-so-holier-than-though seriousmode Jesusmode tone, “you talk even more than usual. This won't even take a minute.”

“It has already taken five FUCKING minutes and ooh. Twenty-six. Twenty-seven. Seconds. Hate you. You’re a liar with your pants on fire and _fuckfuckfuck_ that hurts. Hate you very much, Priscilla. Hurry up!" Wade wished he could at least squirm.

His last mission in Brazil had ended up with a now-deceased terrorist special ops badperson shooting something at him that apparently was not only a) techno-organic, b) nano-technology, but c) a literal pain in the ass that could not be healed or removed by normal means. Even with a gingerly held katana. And so. Wade had come to Nate for help. Who had insisted that he couldn't concentrate thanks to Wade's eternal twitching and had used his TK to levitate Wade into the air, naked and spread-eagled. Then Nathan Priscilla Dayspring started to use his glowy-eye ability to probe Wade’s ass.

This was actually a normal day in the life of Deadpool, sadly enough. Maybe not the bit involving getting buttprobed by Mutant Jeebus. 

“You’re talking out loud,” Nate said.

Oops.

“And you know TK has nothing to do with my eye.”

Wade knew that. Sometimes, Wade wished Nate didn't look so cool. Some bits of Nate were just there to look cool! Nate’s character design had no real logic to it at all! A reasonable person would think that Nate got infected as a baby with techno-organic-whatsit-viruses on purpose. Wouldn't put that beyond Scott ‘Cool Red Eye Lasers’ Summers.

“Stop talking about my father.”

“How come you can read my yellow textboxes?”

“You're talking out loud, Wade. I’m nearly done. Be patient. Neither of us wants this situation to get drawn out, do we?”

“Really? And here I was thinking you couldn't get enough of probing my ass.” Wade rolled his eyes.

There was an awkward silence.

“Er. Did I say that?”

“Yes. Now shut up please.” Nathan didn't sound amused, but he didn't seem offended, either. 

That was definitely a thrown gauntlet. “It's really cold, you know,” Wade said.

“I could get you a shirt.” Nate didn't move. Wade grimaced in agony as he felt the techno-whatever-ugh in his right butt cheek begin to burrow outwards under Nate's control. The poison it was releasing wasn't a real problem for his healing factor, but the anesthetic had been making him sluggish and was having a detrimental effect on his brain filter.

“Which bears the question. I have a techno worm in my butt, just my butt, mind you, and you decide to strip search me. If that doesn't say something about you, Priscilla, then I'm related to Willy-fucking-Wonka.” Wade paused. “Oh look, I said ‘willy’. Heheh.”

“I was beginning to think you couldn't take subtle hints,” Nate said. There was a brief jolt of sheer agony, then bliss. Something metallic was being shorn into little pieces as Wade’s drugged brain crabbed up to speed.

“What.” Wade boggled.

“Never mind.”

“No, it's not... never mind. You… wait, this is you being subtle?”

“Any subtler and it wouldn't have reached your particular brain frequency.”

“Well. Thanks for removing the whateverthingy,” Wade said. “So.”

“So.”

Ah, what the hell. Since Nate was the one to throw the gauntlet, Wade might as well up the ante. “Bet you can't surprise me.”

“And what are we betting?” Nate inquired.

“I’ll tell you where I hid your green ice cube computer.”

There was a strained pause, then Nate scowled, much to Wade's malicious delight. He never did like Mr. Nice Guy anyway. “You found it?”

“I like breaking and entering. It's a character flaw.”

“Where did you put it?”

“Ah-ah. You have to surprise me first. Without serious bodily injury, because that is not always very fun, especially when I'm this horny.” Another awkward pause. “It's, uh, the worm must have done something.”

“Wade.”

“Don't you like playing games? I love playing games. I would totally whoop your ass at monopoly, even if I'm not the banker. Swear I don't cheat. And I want to use the hat.”

Nate sighed and stood up. He pressed his hands over Wade’s scarred hips and curled fingers none-too-gently for a moment into his upper thighs. The metal palm felt strange. Nice. “You're going to regret this,” Nate told him, though he was fighting a grin.

“Won't be fun otherwise, baby.”

Fifteen minutes later, Wade had finished his rendition of all the Justin Timberlake songs he’d ever had the misfortune to listen to. Nate looked utterly unaffected. He was exploring Wade’s thighs, mapping Wade’s body curiously. Nate was being careful and gentle despite the dare, and it was actually rather sweet. In other words, Wade was bored.

“I’m getting bored, honey.”

Nate chuckled, scratching Wade lightly under the arch of the sole of his foot. 

“I’m not ticklish, poohbear. Nice try.”

“I have an audience with representatives in the Middle East who want me to help them broker a peace deal. I can't stay here and play with you,” Nate said.

“Ooh. You and your priorities. I am so flushing your sparkly green ice cube down the toilet,” Wade said, annoyed. Way to let a guy down. 

“Which is not to say I won't be playing with you,” Nate said, completely deadpan. He got to his feet and headed towards the exit, still perfectly composed. “When you want me to come back, tell me where my computer is.”

“What makes you think I haven't flushed it down the loo already? Huh? Think about that!” Wade yelled after Nate, outraged.

The automatic doors to Wade’s Providence apartment hissed shut and then locked themselves. As a parting shot, that kinda lacked a punch. Great. 

“Maybe I'm getting old. Brain tissue not regenerating properly. Nate's just going to hold you here until you really want to pee. Ugh. Maybe that’s it. Cruel and unusual punishment. But I’ve already established that I can not-pee for four days, so it's just going to be four days of no mayhem and not peeing. Fuck. Don’t think about peeing. So we're going to play like that, are we? Nate? Nate?”

Twenty minutes later, Wade was heartily bored and had worked through his relatively limited repertoire of Taylor Swift songs. Nate had made good on his threat despite the promising setup and all the trouble Wade had expended to get the little cube computer thing. 

“Chicken,” Wade muttered.

A ghostly touch brushed over the tip of his cock. Wade flinched. “What? Oh. I see. You sneaky little asshole.” Growing bolder, the telekinetic stimulation began to _ohgod_ go up and down Wade’s dick. Wow. This was pretty good.

He was more fucked up than he thought.

“OK Wade, you can do this. You have at least four days of Margaret Thatcher anti-happy-thought porn in your sick little head from all your surveillance experiences, after which you have—oh fuck—five days of Sabertooth, and after that, you can always think about T-Ray. Agh. I am going to be so brain-damaged after this.” 

The sensory stimulation was sliding down to his balls. “Ngh. Right. Alphabetically arranged Margaret Thatcher badthoughts. Number one. Margaret Thatcher doing the naughty with apples. Sliced apples. A lot of apple juice.”

Wade was down to a shaky rendition of ‘Margaret Thatcher and Crocodile Dundee in the Desert’ when Nate's TK began to explore his nipples. He was going through ‘Margaret Thatcher and the Desert Jawa Things’ when the stimulation did something absolutely incredible to the sides of his neck. 

Fuuuck.

 _Surprised?_ Nate's telepathic voice was deeper than his spoken one, rumbling and amused.

“I hate you. And no, I've read way kinkier shit off 4chan. You are not surprising me at all and I am getting bored. Ngh. Margaret Thatcher and Dobermans. How're the negotiations going? Which part of the Middle East are you in again? The bits with great hummus?”

 _Maybe I should get lunch and find out._ Nate chuckled when Wade bit down an oath. _Give up?_

“Hell no. This is as vanilla as a… Ohh. You don't have the fucking balls.” Wade’s weapons were lifting off the bed. The bedside drawer slid open, and the lotion that he always hid very discreetly under three issues of Guns and Ammo floated out. “I swear I'm going to kill you if you use my katana like that, poohbear. Do you know how hard it is to clean anything sticky off the hilt? Hey! Are you listening?”

Five minutes later, Wade was taking strangled breaths, body rigid and arched as much as he could in the invisible grip. Nate's TK tightened its grip around the base of his dick, preventing release. Bastard.

 _Wade?_ Nate felt concerned. How nice. _Do you want me to stop?_

“Will you stop asking me that? Do you want me to kill you?” The words spilled in a panting rush. “Fuck. I think I'm going to kill you. Oh yes. Kill you with lots of hot oil and some brandied cherries stuffed down your goddamn throat. Margaret Thatcher and the Dutch Farm Maid. You haven’t… ngh… surprised me yet.” 

_Stubborn._ The stimuli continued in careful waves up and down his cock. As Wade relaxed, the katana began to move. Wade didn't remember the last time he had been this turned on.

He was definitely more fucked up than he’d thought he was. 

_Give up?_ Nate asked, amused.

“Margaret Thatcher aaand Elton John. Unf. Never. And don't you fucking dare use my rifle.”

Wade had worked himself down to ‘ice-cream’ by the time Nate's big hands were back on his ass, squeezing roughly. Wade managed a moan, his tongue thick in his throat as he pushed weakly into Nate's grasp. “I seriously hate you.”

“Eight times.” Nate said. Wade felt Nate’s smile against the arch of his spine.

“What?”

“You've said that eight times,” Nate elaborated, and Wade hissed as Nate curved the fingers of his metal hand around his cock, pumping gently. “Give up?”

“No. I can go on forever. Margaret Thatcher and aaah… something with the letter 'I', brought to you by Sesame, Sesame goddamned _fucking_ street.”

“You're losing it,” Nate said smugly. The katana blade clattered on the ground. Wade groaned and shuddered as he felt the thick head of Nate's cock bump carefully against his ass. “Wade, do you want me to stop?”

“You're fucking serious. You just fucked me with my own fucking katana.”

“Yes, but—“

“Okay. I'm surprised.”

“What?”

“I’m surprised at how bad you really are at this. You win.” When Nate didn't move, Wade growled, “I’m gonna kill you if you don't fuck me. Seriously. I'll put scorpions in your underwear drawer, so help me God.” Nate chuckled and kissed his throat and finally, finally, started pushing in.

“That's interesting,” Nate said, three glorious minutes later of Wade being filled as deeply as he had ever been.

“Whuh?”

“You're not talking.”

“Nn… hrrk—“ Wade took a deep breath. His voice cracked. “ _Please._ ”

“I’ll remember this,” Nate was all too happy about this. It would’ve been annoying if Wade’s brain wasn't so shattered right now. Nate was moving, deep and slow and too controlled. Somehow, Wade's mouth had executed a successful rebellion from his brain and was only making embarrassing whining noises.

It was forever and nirvana later when Nate's own control began to crack, his thrusts becoming shallower and harder. Wade was too far gone to care, sweating, openmouthed and gasping for air between his moans. Nate's hand around Wade’s cock was so tight it was close to painful. Wade wanted to move, needed to move. He tried to beg but could only manage a keening, thin wail. Wade screamed when Nate thrust deep, so goddamned-good- _Christ_ , and again when the TK cock ring around his dick finally loosened. A few rough jerks and he was shaking in Nate's arms as he came violently over warmed metal.

Fifteen minutes and thirty seconds later, sprawled over Nate's muscular bulk on his bed, Wade said, “I’d still whoop your ass at Monopoly.”

Nate snorted, one hand splayed over the small of Wade's back. “Where’s my computer?”

“You are so single-minded.”

“I won,” Nate reminded him.

“It’s in your socks drawer. Bet you never thought of looking in there. Hah! So,” Wade said thoughtfully, “what do I have to steal next for you to do this to me again?”

“What happened to asking nicely?” Nate asked wryly.

“Where's the fun in that?”


	18. Making Up 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Registration fic: how did Wade get convinced to be on the anti-registration side?

“At least now we know which side we’re both on.” 

Wade could only stare at Nate for a long, speechless moment. Then the sheer disappointment of the day set in. Thumbing the safety, Wade holstered his gun and turned around to sprawl onto the ratty couch. “You’re a goddamned bastard.”

“I can live with that,” Nate said quietly.

“Go back to saving the fucking world, or whatever you’re up to nowadays.”

“You’re angry with me.”

Wade bared his teeth. “Pretty sure I don’t need to set a Facebook status for that to be fucking obvious. I tried my best to go legit and you ruined it. I don’t even have the words to describe what an asshole move that was.”

“I’d rather not part like this,” Nate said. Regrets? Second thoughts? Whatever. Wade was through being manipulated for today and turned back into Public Enemy Number One. All without him even killing anybody. “I can understand your anger.”

“But you’re not sorry at all.”

“No. I said—”

“It’s for my own good? Funny thing about power. It sticks your head so far up your own ass that you can’t even hear what you’re saying anymore.” Wade sneered under his mask. “You think you have a right to herd people into the slots you make for them. And you act all surprised when they get mad at you. I want you to think about how different you are from the guy in the office we just trashed. And,” Wade said sullenly, “you’re still a bastard. Now go away. I haven’t paid my rent and I don’t want to be kicked out for fighting.”

“You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right.”

“That’s why I want you to come back to Providence with me,” Nate said, reaching out. 

Wade stared at the outstretched hand until it dropped back to Nate’s side. “Were you listening to me when I told you where your head was?”

“Up my own ass?” Nate’s lips curled wryly. “I want things to be back to the way they were. You give me perspective, Wade.” 

A horrible thought struck Wade. “Was this what it was all about? Because you could’ve just asked. And besides, you kicked me out of Socialist Paradise fifteen issues ago! Aren’t you due to shack up with Domino in the next three issues?”

“I’m going to what?” A confused Nate always looked far better than Big-Brother-Is-Watching-Nate, but he usually recovered way too quickly. “I’ve regretted asking you to leave. Regretted asking you not to stay, even after you helped me again when you didn’t need to.”

“Don’t know about you, I don’t think that sounds like you’re apologising or anything.”

“I’m sorry,” Nate said heavily. The apology would’ve sounded so much better if it hadn’t been made with a hint of exasperation.

“But not for ruining my latest gig.”

“No. Because that implies that I wouldn’t do it again if I had to. I want you to come back. And I also don’t want you involved in this war,” Nate said.

“You fail on so many levels.” Wade folded his arms. He refused to let go of the core of ugly anger in his gut. In Nate’s fucked up megalomaniac way he was trying to care. But he also wasn’t about to get off his goddamned moral high horse. Fuck Nate. “Also, I hate your new costume,” Wade said.

“Irene designed it.”

“There are caterpillars going across your chest. Neon yellow ones.” 

“It can change,” Nate said softly. “Things can change.”

“Can you?”

“I’m trying.”

“You know, if this is a ‘Nate makes things up to Wade for kicking him off the island and then stalking him and getting him fired from a cushy job’ sort of scenario, why are you the one expecting me to come crawling back to you?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Don’t take things literally only when it suits you, asshole.” 

“I said I wasn’t entirely sorry,” Nate said. Dick. 

“You obviously haven’t watched enough sitcoms, since you have no idea how to make up to someone.” Wade counted off his fingers. “First, you say you’re sorry, which I guess you’ve done. Even if the way you said it pissed me off. Then you ask the person to come back to you. Ask, mind you. With some constructive groveling. Thirdly, you offer bribery or an amusing form of penance.”

Nate sighed. To Wade’s surprise, Nate knelt before the couch, big hands pressed over the discoloured upholstery. “Wade, would you please come back with me to Providence?” 

“Much better.” Wade patted Nate’s short, white hair as patronizingly as he could. “And then?”

“I’m sorry that you’re angry with me—”

“Fail. Try again.”

“I’m sorry that I had to be a complete bastard to you in order to get you into a position where you would consider coming back with me?” The right side of Nate’s mouth quirked up, lopsided and goddamned cute. Wade tried to stay unmoved. He was pretty sure he wasn’t in the wrong, which was usually novel where Nate was concerned. Had to savour the moment. 

“Fail. I would have considered it very thoroughly had you’d asked me nicely anytime in the last fifteen issues.” Wade relented as Nate started to look upset. “Okay, you work on this part later. Let’s hear about the bribe. Make me laugh.”

“I can arrange for you to meet Bea Arthur.” 

Now that was just not playing fair. “What?”

“I know Oprah, remember?” 

“Seeing as you’re Jesus and Oprah is God, I guess I’m not surprised.” Wade pinched the bridge of his nose. “So I get to go on the Oprah show and meet Bea?” 

“It can be arranged.” 

“You’d probably have to be there.”

“I know,” Nate said, very seriously. He didn’t even sigh. 

“Then you’d better do the couch jump.”

“The what?”

“The Tom Cruise couch jump. If you want me to come back, then it’d better be official. No more subtle meaningful glances and sneaking into rooms.” 

Nate looked bewildered. “That was never my idea. I did tell you I was more than happy to go public about our relationship.”

Oh, screw continuity. Wade knew his resistance had just left the building, hand in hand with his anger. “Just saying, if I have to come out of the closet it had better be on Oprah. With Bea. And a couch jump.”

“All right.” Nate’s hands were resting on his thighs, gently moving Wade so that he was settled between them. Presumptuous bastard. Wade still found himself splaying his legs over Nate’s broad shoulders, folding his arms behind his head as big fingers worked on his belt. 

“This doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you for making me change sides on the registration thing,” Wade said.

“I didn’t…” Nate began, paused, then chuckled instead. He pulled down Wade’s pants enough to free his cock, pressing his lips to the root and making limp flesh twitch in anticipation. “I’ll work on it.” 

“So long as I still get to kick ass, get paid, and still get a badge, I guess I don’t care what side I’m on.” Wade scooted forward a little more as Nate began to lick. Wade didn’t want to admit it, but he’d missed this.

“I did offer—”

“If you’d come up with all these other bribes on the spot I might of listened better.”

“What, offer to suck you off in front of Captain America?” Nate asked dryly. He curled his tongue over the wet slit of Wade’s cock, one hand cupping Wade’s swollen flesh, the other holding down his hips. 

“You don’t know anything about Captain America, man.” Wade snickered. He moaned as Nate finally began to take him into his mouth, purposefully slow, and yesss, this, _this_ Wade had missed. More than too-happy Providence and a room he didn’t have to work to pay rent for. More than even free food and neighbors who didn’t call the police when they saw him. Wade had missed Nate’s mouth. Missed how Nate would muffle moans as he sucked Wade off, missed how Nate liked to touch himself as he did it. Nate’s hands were working between his legs. Wade had his gloved hands curled so tight in Nate’s hair he was sure it hurt, but the Saviour of the Goddamned Earth only groaned and took him deeper.

One white-hot moment of ecstasy later, Wade was boneless on the sofa. Nate wiped off his mouth with his unsoiled metal hand and tried his best not to look smug. Wade appreciated the effort. 

“So,” Nate said hoarsely. He cleared his throat, then tried again. “Next Tuesday?”

“Next Tuesday what?” Wade’s brain had taken a nice, post-coital holiday.

“Oprah.”

Oh, that. “I’m sure I can keep my brimming social calendar free for any couch jumping.”

“You’re fixated.”

“Says the person who went through an elaborate amount of trouble to undo a breakup that he started.” 

“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?” Nate smiled faintly.

“Never. Let’s go have sex on your balcony.” 

“My balcony overlooks a courtyard.”

“Your point being?” 

“Fine.”

“And I get to top.”


	19. A Fine and Proper Upbringing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: De-aged Nate. Wade absconds with a babyfied Nate.

“Look what I brought home for dinner!” Wade set down the Package on the kitchen counter.

Wade’s current roommates were dead inside. All Wade got from Weasel was a deep sigh. Blind Al only managed a crotchety, “Oh, for pity’s sake. I just wiped that down.”

“How do _you_ know what I’ve got?” Wade asked curiously. 

Al shuffled up to the counter from her hibernation spot before the television. “It’s making baby noises. Also, your brain probably died along with your nose. Weasel, go out and buy diapers. And baby powder. And milk solution. And a bottle.” Al picked up the squirming, giggling baby from Wade’s hands. “I’ll go see what I can do with one of your spare shirts.”

“Not anything collectible, please,” Weasel said plaintively. He disappeared into his room and emerged moments later with the black sling-bag that Wade had taken to calling Weasel’s ‘man-purse’. Then he blinked, as though certain details about the Package had just rooted themselves in his brain. “Holy shit. Wade, what did you do to the baby’s eye and arm?”

Some of his friends were obviously not clued up with popular AU tropes. Seriously. “I’ll give you a clue. His name starts with Nathan and ends, eventually, with Summers,” Wade said. The baby let out an unhappy sound as Al took a step away from Wade. “No, you go with Al until you become less poopy.”

“Dead’poo,” Baby Nate said soberly. Ooh. Unfortunate early word-association. Al became a fast retreating old blind lady blur that somehow always managed to head accurately towards the nearest bathroom. 

“Do I even want to know?” Weasel asked tiredly.

“Nope!”

“Okay.” Weasel shook his head. “Let me guess anyway. There was a cosmic accident of hilarious proportions. And then you stole the Cable Baby.”

“Stealing is such an accusatory word. I prefer ‘permanently borrowing’,” Wade said. He moseyed over to the couch.

“Dare I ask why?”

“We need a pet now that Bob’s moved back in with the wife?”

“Wade! You can’t keep a baby as a pet!”

“But we can keep a HYDRA agent as a pet?”

“Especially not that baby!” Weasel groaned. “I’m going to amp up our defenses. I hope you weren’t followed. We just paid the rent.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Wade said dismissively. “I told everyone before I teleported that I was going to take him into the future to make sure that he actually got the TO fixed.”

Weasel scrunched up his face. “And people believed you?”

“If they heard me above my guns, sure.”

“So you actually conducted an armed baby robbery. Kidnapping. An armed baby kidnapping!”

“Everyone was discussing the best way of ‘properly’ bringing up a telepathic baby. With words like ‘correct education’ and ‘peaceful upbringing’. Thought I could contribute.” 

Wade turned on the television and settled down with an air of finality. In the bathroom, the muttering grew louder. There was a loud oath, a happy giggle, and the baby sped out. Baby Nate was faster than his little stubby knees and hands made him look. He reached Deadpool’s feet and sat back heavily, raising both chubby hands and making blubby noises until Wade picked him up and settled him absently onto his lap.

Little metal fingers. He could never get enough of the little TO fingers.

“That’s my limited edition Rorschach Winter shirt,” Weasel said, resigned. He stared with horrified fascination as Baby Nate cuddled up and. With characteristically Nate-esque decisiveness, Baby Nate instantly fell asleep.

“Weren’t you getting baby stuff?” Wade asked. The TO fingers loosed their death grip on Wade’s pinky.

“Yes boss…”

#

Parenting involved a lot of milk formula temperature testing, random changes of clothes, diapers, one-sided entertainment, and additional expenses. That was why Wade left everything to his minions and tried his best to take care of the last bit. As crabby as Al was, underneath all her increased grumbling about Wade’s Worst Idea there was a maternal instinct. Which was a good thing, otherwise Baby Nate would’ve been fed on old cornflakes and Pepsi.

Unfortunately, although Al’s maternal instinct was good for changing diapers, preparing milk formulas and getting Baby Nate dressed in cheap K-mart baby shirts, she was also equally good at making sure that Wade was Involved as much as possible.

Trying to change the channel while cradling a baby while trying to feed him without choking him to death with the bottle meant a lot of inventive toe yoga. Baby Nate had somehow clued in that the television was the sole reason for Wade’s distraction. The little shit kept moving the remote away, giggling over the bottle and dribbling warm milk at the same time. over Wade’s chest

When the remote gently slid under the couch, Wade sighed.

Al didn’t look up from the spare armchair where she was slowly knitting up something in a lurid purple color that looked rather like a tortured scarf. Wade got the distinct impression of smugness the old biddy though.

At least Baby Nate didn’t cry much. When Wade was around anyway. He didn’t care about the comfort of his minions. And… d’aww. Look at those little TO fingers! 

Wade bit down hard on his lip to stifle the instinctive broken baby talk that even functional human adults served up on cute infants. Tiny little fingers. Shit. That was seriously cute.

The phone rang.

With a great amount of effort and spilled milk, Wade managed to pick up. He cradled the receiver against his shoulder and cheek. “Problems fixed, things stolen, exes murdered—”

“Wade.”

“Terry! How’s my favourite angry Irish gal?”

“Less angry now,” Siryn said dryly. From the receiver, he could hear passing cars and snatches of sidewalk yammer. Siryn had called him with a public phone. Smart girl. “Listen, they’re all really mad at you.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Is he okay? Uh, the baby.”

“Sure he is. I think I’m meant to burp him, but I’ve no idea how to and it sounds pretty gross.”

“Cyclops is lookin’ for you. Him an’ Tony Stark an’ some o’ the others. Just thought you’d want t’know. Maybe you should let off advertising your number.”

“It’s scrambled, don’t worry. I have a techie minion. Lives on pizza.” In his arms, Baby Nate hiccupped. Wade moved the bottle away and the baby pouted, squirming and reaching for it as he made gurgling noises. “I think you’ve had enough, kid. Better watch your waistline.”

“Want,” Nate said, still flailing. “Now?”

“They’re working on a way t’reverse him back to adulthood,” Siryn said, sounding amused. “Besides, you wouldn’t do anythin’ t’Nate. The last time he got lobotomized, no one really put in an effort t’fix him but you.”

“Dead’poo!”

“Not to mention he obviously likes you the most,” Siryn said. 

“You don’t say.” The bottle jerked out of Wade’s grasp and squirted him in the eye. “Ow! ”

“Wade?”

“Calling-you-back-bye!” Wade put down the phone as Nate began to giggle. “You are in deep shit, little man… hey! Watch the spandex!” 

Stubby little fingers reached for Wade’s face. “Hugs?”

Why… this little… well… actually. Tiny fingers. Soooo cute. Damnit. “Fine.” Wade allowed Baby Nate to cuddle closer, pulling off his drenched mask and dumping it on the couch. He caught the bottle as it stopped floating in the air.

Al was grinning at him when Nate finally dropped off to sleep. “Congratulations. He’s a monster.”

“The monster is sleeping in the laundry basket today, that’s what,” Wade muttered. His arm was rocking the baby of its own accord. Maternal instincts were fucking contagious. The CDC needed to look at that shit.

“I give you another day before you return him to his real parents.” 

“You’re on.” Against his arm, Baby Nate began to drool.

#

So far the biggest problem Wade had with the Baby Issue was that Baby Nate had learned that he could manipulate the TV. With telekinesis. Baby Nate could also crawl out from his laundry basket, make it over to the coffee table, switch on the television and amp up the volume. At six thirty in the _fucking morning_. Nate was asleep in a boneless baby sprawl over the TV guide and the newspaper when Wade woke up murderous and sleep-deprived.

On screen, deformed cartoon animals were torturing each other with household implements. Wade considered this ‘fit for children’ brand of violence for a brief moment, shook his head, and turned off the television.

Or tried to. The buttons were jammed shut and the remote was nowhere to be found. Wade contemplated waking Baby Nate, scratched his head, muttered an apology to the Television God and unplugged the television.

He managed to get Baby Nate back to the laundry basket when Nate woke, cooing sleepily and distinctively fragrant.

Cursing under his breath, Wade made a quick about-face to the bathroom, dumped Nate in the sink, said “Sit! Stay!” and went to hammer on Al’s door. Joys and sorrows, sharing is caring and all that. 

Back in bed, Wade managed to enter the fuzzy half-awake world of happily dozing off over the sound of Al’s constant grumbles and the baby burbling. Something was deposited into a laundry basket. Al’s door slammed shut. A faint blubby sound went on for a long, shocked baby moment.

When Baby Nate began to cry, Wade groaned and pushed his face into the pillow. 

Fifteen minutes of cuddling and allowing Baby Nate to whack him with a teddy bear later, Wade prodded Baby Nate carefully in the basket until he was satisfied that the little monster was asleep and went back to bed. 

He woke up to Weasel screaming like a soprano and Al swearing the air blue like a sailor. Both of them were huddled in his room. Weasel shook Wade roughly by the shoulder. “Wade! Wade!”

Wade tried to collect early morning threats along the lines of killing and maiming, but only managed an irritated, “Mfght?” 

“Make him stop!” Weasel yelled. Wade’s brain woke up the rest of the way from a pleasant dream involving Victoria’s Secret Angels and a lot of honey, to the sight of Floating Baby Nate giggling as he chased Weasel and Al around with a hella lot of kitchen knives and the toaster. 

Household implements.

Tom and Jerry. 

Wade sat up. “Nate.”

“Dead’poo! ”

“Put those things down now. Slowly.”

Baby Nate’s happy smile slowly creased downwards. All the implements dropped with a loud clatter onto the ground, making Al flinch. The baby bounced down onto Wade’s toes.

“Don’t ever do that again. Weasel and Al can sometimes be a pain but they are minions and minions are necessary, okay? Nobody’s going to be changing your diaper if you kill them by accident.” Wade paused, yawning and scratching at his head. It was too early for parenting. It was too early for anything. “Uh, and don’t believe everything you see on television.” 

Weasel paused amidst picking up the knives. “You let him watch Cartoon Network?”

“I don’t think ‘let’ figured anywhere in that,” Wade said. Nate crawled into his lap and sat down, hands outstretched. “No, no hugs, because you’ve been… uh, now this is slightly awkward… you’ve been _bad_.”

Al gave the distinct impression of eye-rolling despite wearing sunglasses and being technically blind.

Baby Nate blinked slowly in disbelief. Wade caught a feather-light brush on his mind. _Bad Nate!_ Wade told him, and pushed forward all his exasperation from his lack of sleep, at the knives in his room that belonged in the kitchen, and the television currently being out of his fucking control. What the fuck was wrong with Nate anyway? Why the hell had Wade even tried to help?

Baby Nate’s eyes scrunched up. He began to cry.

“Oh hell.” Wade sighed. 

“Good job, genius,” Al said. 

Breakfast was a sullen affair.

#

Wade sat down on the edge of the fountain. He held a hotdog in one hand and, a can of Coke in the other. Logan settled down beside him, smirking. Baby Nate was on Logan’s shoulders, giggling and playing with tufts of spiky black hair.

The park had been cleared of civilians. Cyclops was an unmoving lump at the end of a deep trough of grass, Tony Stark was in a malfunctioning can of circuits somewhere in a tree, Storm and Beast were unconscious in the no longer operational flower clock, and a bunch of other costumed ‘heroes’ were beating a slow retreat.

“I think I’ve just had a great day,” Logan said, taking a bite of his own hotdog. “An’ that’s a first when you’re around, Wilson.”

“What was your favorite part?”

“Seein’ Scott hit that tree. You?”

“Probably when Mister Fantastic was used to tie up the Thing.”

On Logan’s shoulders, an impossibly powerful baby cooed. “Can’t say I didn’t try t’warn them. Didn’t think the baby was the loaded weapon, though,” Logan said.

“Didn’t think so either.” Wade had been perfectly happy to start fighting when confronted in the park by the large group of said costumed angry people bent on Returning Nate to his Father for a Proper Upbringing. Then Baby Nate had clued into everyone’s aggression and had taken care of it himself. Somewhere in between, Wade and Logan helped themselves to an empty hot dog stand and some coke and watched the mayhem. 

“Why’d you show up?” Wade asked.

“Damage control, bub,” Logan said. He rolled his shoulders, making Nate giggle. “Didn’t want things t’get out o’ hand, but it didn’t look like he hurt anyone permanently anyway.”

“So what’s the diagnosis?”

 _It appears that custody of the child falls to you for now, Mister Wilson,_ Professor X whispered into Wade’s mind. Probably Logan’s as well—Logan chuckled. 

“Did you decide that before or after it beat up a hella lot of the world’s best and finest?” Wade asked smugly.

 _Nathan’s possessiveness was a surprise,_ the Professor admitted, though he felt amused. _He only hurt our pride. And perhaps a billion dollars’ worth of circuitry in Mister Stark’s case. Forge is on his way in the completion of a cure. If you would undertake to bring Nathan Summers with you to a neutral area of your choosing when the cure is complete, I for one would be happy to let matters sit as they are now._

“Hey, I prefer him in his not-baby form as much as you do,” Wade said. Adult Nate didn’t cost something crazy in baby supplies. 

_Very well. Then it is agreed_. Xavier’s presence withdrew. 

“Hell lot o’ trouble for nothin’,” Logan said. He looked satisfied, even as a small TO hand clapped on his nose. Logan levered it off with a thick finger and inspected metal fingers as they closed tightly over his digit. He chuckled again. “Cute.”

“I know!” It rotted brains.

#

They flew Al and Weasel over to Providence as well for the re-aging process. Forge had modified the teleporter tank substantially, making it a jumble of weirdly shaped spotlights and wires. Baby Nate had fallen asleep during transit and was still asleep, despite the room being crowded with Interested Parties.

When he was placed on in the tank, Baby Nate woke up instantly. “Da’?”

“This won’t hurt you a bit,” Wade said in what he hoped was a soothing tone, “or if it does, there’ll be one pretty dead intuitive engineer behind me in a couple of minutes.” When had he become protective? It had to be the TO fingers. Or seeing Tony Stark being bounced up and down on an increasingly abused lawn. 

Baby Nate looked worried as the glass came up between them. He sat down, touching it with his fingers. “Stay?”

“Y-yeah,” Wade said. He was choking up. Behind him, the machines hummed to life. “This was fun while it lasted. Mostly.” 

The re-aging process was deeply disturbing, what with all the screaming and thrashing and limbs growing out in stop motion. Nate stood shakily, picking scraps of baby clothes off his skin. He was back to being tall and scarred and impassive, even when stepping out naked in a room that was ‘bout half full of ladies. Nate accepted a towel from Irene with grave dignity and zero visible shame. 

Wade tuned out as Nate gave some sort of short thank you speech. Team Spandex filed out. When it was just Wade, Weasel, Al, and Irene, Nate relaxed.

“Irene, I wish to speak with them privately for a moment,” Nate said.

Irene hesitated. Her face pinched up and she stalked out of the room. Wooow. Angry lady. Even Al sensed the vibe. “Your ex?” Al asked.

“No,” Nate said.

“Your soon-to-be-ex?” Weasel asked.

“No?”

“What died up her ass?” Al asked.

“She’s had a trying time,” Nate said urbanely.

“Don’t give me any lip, son, I changed your diapers,” Al said. She grinned. 

“I do recall you doing so.” Nate inclined his head. Still zero shame. Wow.

“Hah! You’re a piece of work. Wade, why didn’t you ever bring him home?” Al asked. 

“Who are you, my momma?” Wade folded his arms.

“It doesn’t get better than this,” Al said. Wade hated cryptic old-lady-speak. “Come on Weas. Heard this island has free food. Let’s go get some Thai.”

“Sure.” Weasel glanced worriedly at Nate, then at Wade. “Er.”

“I’ll come get you guys before I go,” Wade said.

“All right boss,” Weasel said.

“Sorry about your shirt,” Nate said. “The Rorschach one.”

Weasel managed a wan smile. “Er… no problem, man. It’s machine washable.” 

Which left Wade and Nate-in-a-towel. “Before you say you’re sorry for all the trouble, I want to say straight up, it was fun. Especially the part where you threw your real father into a tree,” Wade said.

“It was… nice to have an actual family. For a while.” Nate smiled. Wade’s chest felt like it was starting to crush itself inwards. “I don’t remember any of my past before I was sent to the future. In the future, I didn’t have family. Only instructors and teachers.”

“Post-apocalyptic future doesn’t have time for cuddles and cartoons, huh.”

“You could say that. You’re welcome back on Providence if you’ll like. You, Weasel, and Al,” Nate said.

“Sorry. Al’s too crabby for heaven and Weasel will die in a place with no pay-per or illegal downloading,” Wade said brightly.

“But you?”

“Free food was good. The happy vibes drive me up the wall though. You want to visit _us_ , you can visit. Hey, is this the part where I get kissed for being good?”

“Do you?” Nate asked, amused. He did step closer, pulling Wade up against him. “What brings that on?”

“You mean, other than the telepathic baby Hulk thing you pulled with the Avengers and Friends? Or the extremely clingy ‘Hugs?’ act you did whenever I was home and trying to do something else?” Wade pulled up his mask, grinning. 

“Ah.” Still zero shame. Seriously, Nate. “Can I rephrase a previous offer?”

“Sure.”

“ _Please_ come back to Providence,” Nate whispered against his ear.

“I’ll think about it,” Wade said dryly. Nate pressed his lips hard against the edge of Wade’s grin and opened his mouth when Wade turned to meet him.


	20. All the King's Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Nate and Wade end up telepathically bound.

There were some days when Wade wasn’t sure who the hell had died and given him their life. 

He had a fairly stable life now. Steady work that he didn’t have to endure a bar full of murders/rapists/terrorists/psychopaths to get to. And rather amazingly, Wade even had a social life, one which occasionally involved superheroes. 

Someday Wade would stop losing chunks of his paycheck on poker nights to Mister-Fucking-Fantastic, or draw the short end of the straw when it came to Starbucks rounds at work. Or beat the fucking side-scrolling shooter game that Weasel had installed in the computer at work just to frustrate the hell out of Wade on slow days. The thing was, Wade now had a normal life. Wasn’t that the most fucked up thing of all. 

“You’re zoning out, Wilson.”

“Just thinking about how my life is fucked up.”

Hayden mulled this over a plate of hot wings that he’d snuck past the two female piranhas at the front desk by cunningly hiding them under a stack of increasingly oily paperwork. “If this is about the yogurt in the fridge, I could have sworn to God it wasn’t yours.”

“Why would my life be fucked up over yogurt?” 

“Never mind. I have a job for you. Government contract of the not entirely black ops sort.” Hayden pushed over a grubby manila folder with one pinky. “Keep ammo usage to the minimum.” Hayden grinned greasily over his fried chicken parts carcass. “And civilian casualties to the nil. Target preferred alive. Something’s causing people in Amicaville, Penns, to commit suicide. Town’s going into crazy religious end of the world fever. Feds want it stopped but they’re hitting a blank.”

“And they ask me to go in there?” Wade said incredulously. Wade hated legit, non-Civil-War Government work. Hated with much hate. 

“Actually, they asked me,” Hayden said, “but seeing as you’re working for me now and we still need to work out the time travel machine costs that we burnt on you in a previous comic arc, I thought you could take yourself and your hologram toy out there to figure it all out.”

“Small town. Newcomer. I’ll fit riiight in. Just give me my magic underwear and I’ll be set.”

“You’ll stand out, but that’s what you’re meant to be doing. Maybe it’ll flush out whatever it is that’s doing this. ’Sides, if it’s a making-people-commit-suicide sort of ability or control, I figure at the very least you’re immune to telepathy, aren’t you?” Hayden grinned.

People always had to wave that around under Wade’s nose. As though being technically unreadable by telepaths and having a healing factor meant he was doing great. Hello? Certain people in this world had both of the above _and_ adamantium claws, for pity’s sake.

Still, Wade did need work.

And he didn’t want to hang around to find out about the yogurt. 

“Fine.”

#

The small town in the arse end of nowhere was quiet. Too quiet. The pale moon was banked on gray clouds—

“Sir? Welcome to Amicaville, sir. Looking for a place to kip over?”

—and the eerie, empty houses huddled together in collective fear—

“Might I recommend Old Betty’s? It’s the inn up the road, down your left. Best bed and breakfast this side of the world.”

—of the friendly stranger who walked up into their midst. “You’re ruining my exposition,” Wade complained. He glared at the young, freckled police officer bounding along beside them. 

Weasel interjected quickly before Wade could elaborate. “Sorry. My friend’s uh, dehydrated and tired, he gets these, uh, funny thoughts, you know?” At the corner of his eye, Wade noted Weasel pulling awkward, constipated faces, possibly to indicate concern. 

The police officer nodded as though he perfectly understood. They’d run into Helpful Public Officer Number One four steps past Amicaville's borders and hadn’t been able to shake him. “Betty’s should be able to put you up,” the officer said brightly, waving at them before he turned away. “Tell her Jason sent you. See y’all around.”

This was too bloody normal and friendly for a town supposedly caught up in suicide fever. Scowling, Wade glared at Weasel once they were out of sight of Mr. Happy Uniform. “You sure there isn’t more than one Amicaville?”

“Google Earth says this is it,” Weasel said patiently, fiddling with his iPhone. “So this is it.” 

Sigh.

“Let’s go shack up at the fucking inn, then,” Wade said.

“Having you here for too long might turn _up_ the suicide fever,” Weasel muttered. “How come Bob got off easy? He’s a _HYDRA agent_. Do HYDRA people get nights off? Especially ones you kidnapped?”

“He’s having a night out with the wife or whatever.”

“Pets get nights out?”

“Hayden decided it was cruelty to animals otherwise.”

#

Three days in Amica “We’re All Soooo Happy” Ville later, Wade was ready to eat the muzzle of his figurative rifle. Godsdamned Hayden had confiscated his actual guns before he’d left. Old Betty was a stooped, tiny old lady who stayed resolutely cheerful despite Wade’s increasingly elaborate pranks. Anyone they’d met around town had been exceptionally helpful, friendly and/or creepily perky. It was getting to a point where even Weasel, fucking _Weasel_ , was whistling to himself as they prowled around Sesame Street.

At any moment, Wade expected to be blindsided by giant letters on pop-up boards.

“I hate it here,” Wade muttered, with a sidelong glance at his useless minion. “Everyone is so content it makes me want to beat them to death with kittens. If Big Bird shows up I’m going to quarter him and deep fry his fucking ass.” 

“What’s wrong with being content?” Weasel asked, his eyes dreamy and far away. That, at long last, brought Wade up short. Weasel had survived for so long as Wade’s Technically-A-Friend only because of a healthy respect for Wade’s capacity for violence and a paranoia for avoiding the same.

“It’s got into you too!” Wade grabbed Weasel by the shoulder, staring into his eyes. Hayden had said something about telepathy. 

“Wade?”

“Whichever asshole is mind controlling my friend? Listen up! If you don’t let him off, I’m going to start putting laxative agents into the water plants. I’m going to use a lawnmower to draw a portrait of Hello Kitty being beaten to death with a baseball bat in the park.”

“Wade,” Weasel said, “what are you doing?”

“Score one! Now. Tell me who you are!” Wade shook Weasel firmly.

Weasel grabbed at Wade’s hands. “I’m not mind-controlled. There’s just lots of fresh air, nobody’s trying to kill me for once, and the waitress in the hamburger place we went to yesterday hit on me when I went on a bathroom break.”

“Ooh, don’t remind me. There’s definitely something fucked up about this place.”

“Also, I’m currently running scans from the equipment I took along. The story you have in that manila folder is full of holes. There have only been two suicides in ten years in this place. There’s only one church here and the pastor’s an elderly old man who gives flower arrangement classes.” 

“Now if that doesn’t tell you something…” Wade trailed off. “All right, I give. So, we’re in the wrong place.”

“No, Wade,” Weasel said patiently, “I’m saying that Hayden sent us here on a false lead, probably to keep us distracted. Something big is probably going down someplace else.” 

Wade considered this novel proposition over very carefully and decided that he _totally_ knew it. Lying S.O.B. “Do we still get paid for this?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t you take a deposit up front?”

“Yeah.” Come to think of that that was even worse. If Hayden had parted with some of his own cold hard cash to shunt Wade away into the middle of Happy Familyville, something _seriously_ big had to be going down. “Any idea why?”

“Still running searches. Wade, where are you going?”

“Obviously back to beat the living hell out of Hayden until he tells me what’s with the X-Files attitude.”

“And waste your time? I have a better idea.”

“Yes?”

“I hack into his computer remotely and see what he’s got.”

“Can you do that while I’m beating the living hell out of him?” 

“… Um. Please don’t.”

#

They hit gold in Hayden’s email trash bin, amidst dozens of suspicious cowgirl porn. It was an email from an encrypted address with an attachment. The picture in the email was blurred, as though taken from a security camera. Someone was hunched over in a crowd near a deli, wearing tattered clothing and frayed, patched gloves. The person’s days-old beard and scruffy hair was hidden by a deep hood. Scars looked familiar from what Wade could see of the person’s face.

Nate?

Oh well. One way to find out. “Bodyslide by two.”

Nothing happened. Weasel tried his best not to look condescending. “The island exploded and sank, Wade. With all the Ask’ani tech.”

Oh yes. “I knew that. Uh. So. Someone doesn’t want me to find Nate. Which means, obviously, that I’m supposed to find Nate.”

“Your logic just lost me there. Er. Sure boss,” Weasel said uneasily. “I can probably triangulate a position with more Google Maps and a little software tweaking, but he’ll be gone for sure by the time we get there.”

So. Back to the original proposition. Wade grinned.

“Er… Wade?”

#

.

They had managed to trash most of Hayden’s office including all of the potted plants before Sandi lost her considerable patience. “Wade. Cyclops and Professor Xavier specifically asked us to keep this from you, okay?”

“So… ufh… how long have you known?” Wade tried to sound betrayed, but it was hard to keep up a bout of histrionics when your boss was punching you through his desk while wielding a hotdog.

“He’s out of control, Wade,” Hayden said as he took a breather. “Doesn’t recognize anyone. His powers are back and he’s using them to kick the ass of anyone who gets too close.”

“So maybe it’s pre-Back to the Back to the Future ‘Future’ Nate?” 

“Lost me there.” Hayden stepped away, allowing Wade to sit up as his ribs began to knit. “You still owe me a backlog of work. Don’t want you going down there and a rogue Cable ripping you a new one. He handed all the X-Men and the Avengers theirs a couple of days ago.”

“Didn’t see shit on the news,” Wade said.

“There wouldn’t be anything on the news, obviously,” Sandi said, folding her arms. “Nate is still considered the savior of the world, remember?”

“And now he’s gone to ground.”

“Any idea why Cyclops and the Professor would want me to keep away? Got no love lost there,” Wade said, still suspicious. “Hell, I would’ve thought they’d be in the front row to watch the ass-kicking of yours truly.”

“Cyclops felt that since Cable thought you were important enough to give you his Get out of Jail Free card back on Providence, he’d probably not appreciate accidentally killing you. Obviously. And I agree with him,” Outlaw said.

“No you don’t,” Wade said.

“We do,” Hayden told him. 

“You guys don’t. Or you wouldn’t have sent Weasel with me,” Wade said. “C’mon. Left to myself I’ll probably have-”

“Stabbed every person in Amicaville to death by the end of the week with kitchen knives?” Hayden asked dryly.

“Blunt kitchen knives. Close. When you’ve eliminated the possible, only the… uh… unpossible remains, which is that you guys actually thought I should find out sooner or later. Thing is,” Wade said, getting to his feet and dusting himself off, “I’ve gone through worse trying to put Humpty-Cable back together again. Including not being able to pee for four days. True story. So this is bread and butter to me now.”

“There’s one more thing,” Hayden said, slouching back down into his cushioned seat before the ruined desk. “You want to take paid leave, you better find me a temp.”

Wade turned to Sandi. He clutched his hands under his chin and did his best Masked Puppydog Smile. She rubbed her temples. “Okay. I’ll make the call.”

“Blow Tasky a kiss when he shows up and he’ll do it for free.”

“Don’t you start, Wade,” Sandi growled.

#

Tasky arrived as filler character material, bitching all the way even with Sandi’s hand hooked on his arm. Satisfied, Hayden started to help out. Which was, Wade had to admit, a little bit touching in a disgustingly Friends sitcom way, minus the earworm theme song.

Locating a person who didn’t leave paper trails was a pain in the ass. Nate could be anywhere. The man could _fly_. All they had was one photograph and the knowledge that the X-men had located Nate living with a group of squatters in a derelict warehouse, After the fight, Nate had promptly gone to ground again and hadn’t been seen since.

“Even if you could somehow convince Wolverine or any mutant with a similar ability to help you out with his sense of smell,” Hayden said, “you’d be combing the world for the rest of your life and not find him.” They were munching on nachos, watching Weasel beavering away at his computer.

“Thanks for the obviousness and the moral support,” Wade said. Sandi and Outlaw had gone out to ‘work the informants’ in a totally safe way, Hayden had said. Wade’s highly qualified bullshit detector deduced that Tasky hadn’t appreciated it. Taskmaster got into a snit whenever Sandi was even remotely in danger of breaking a nail. 

“If he was living with homeless people, it means he’s still staying around groups of people,” Weasel said, typing furiously. On the computer screen was one of Weasel’s custom-written software, something that looked like multiple screens of interlocking grids and maps. “He’ll probably show up at another homeless commune once he stops being spooked.”

“Given the gazillion hobo communities out there,” Hayden waved a pudgy finger at the screen, “it’s still a waste of billable mercenary hours. I like my original idea.”

“You just like it because it involves me getting beat on, disemboweled, and possibly minced,” Wade retorted. 

Hayden had suggested that since Nate had shown a previous tendency to show up whenever Wade was in really deep trouble, Wade should pick a fight with someone impossible. Like Thor. Or the Hulk. Or Wolverine. Wade noted that all of Hayden’s suggestions hadn’t involved nubile young mutant women and had vetoed said suggestions.

“On the contrary, I might not like you very much but Outlaw does. So I do sort of want to help you. If only because you’d get back to doing your job. Also, isn’t your not-boyfriend incredibly loaded?”

“My whatnow?” Wade asked.

“Nathan Summers, your Special Friend with Bodyslide Benefits.”

“Nope. Not loaded. Fake news.” 

“He owns an island!” Hayden pointed out.

“ _Owned_ an island,” Weasel corrected, intent on the screens. “The internet’s pretty clear on that point, anyway. Other than the island, which no longer exists, Nathan Summers, a.k.a. Cable, Savior of the Free World, does not even have a credit card.” 

“Money doesn’t exist in the apocalyptic future,” Wade said. “Nate never really got the hang of the concept. Have you ever seen his clothes? He only has like two sets of them. Depending on the story arc.” 

“I don’t want to live in the future,” Hayden muttered to himself. There were some things that Wade and his scarred, horizontally challenged employer had in common. “Damn. I was hoping that he could at least pay off the time machine loan in gratitude.”

“You’re obsessed with the time machine loan.”

“So would you, if said time machine loan could buy the equivalent of a small apartment in New York City.” Hayden lurched away to arrange his bulk on the creaking couch, trailing nacho crumbs and throwing one trunk-sized arm theatrically across his forehead with a wet slap flesh. “So help me God, four of my employees are looking for a needle in a hayloft and the only one around here who’s supposedly being useful is probably skiving off stalking his girlfriend.”

“Drama queen,” Wade said accusingly.

“Loser.”

“Dipshit.” 

“Asshole.”

“Chicken nugget.”

“Freddy Krueger.”

“Will you guys just quit?” Weasel implored thin air. “Wade, this is impossible. Ask me to track anybody but a homeless guy with no real past or paper trail and I’d have done it by now. He could be anywhere. He could be—”

“At the abandoned rail shed off the fifty-six,” Tasky said as he climbed through the window. Evidently, going through the front door had gotten old a few issues ago. “What? Some of us are actually trying.”

“Tasky, I love you!” Wade tried his best at a tackle hug. Taskmaster hastily hopped clear, leaving Wade to bark his chin painfully on the windowsill.

“Whatever. Hayden, call off Sandi,” Tasky said.

Hayden sniffed and reached for his cell. As Tasky looked over at Weasel’s screen, Hayden winked at Wade. Ohhh. Tricksy. Very tricksy.

“I call her off and she’s only going to turn around and offer to go with Wilson to the rail shed,” Hayden said, with perfect, my-girlfriend-has-superstrength-but-yours-doesn’t nonchalance.

Taskmaster hesitated. “So don’t tell her about the rail shed.”

“Ever tried to not tell her anything before? And I’m only her employer. _You’re_ the boyfriend.”

“True.” Taskmaster stared at Wade as though he was a particularly unappealing specimen of cockroach, somehow managing to convey said sentiment even through a skull mask. “All right. I’ll babysit Wilson. Call off Sandi and tell her that.”

“I don’t need babysitting. Also, are you immune to telepathy? No? I thought so,” Wade said snidely.

Taskmaster jerked his thumb at the rifle slung against his back. “This is me and my sniper rifle, not being impressed.”

“Look, I know this might be a little hard to understand, what with my small group of friends and the wacky ways we blow each other up or stab each other in the back sometimes, but I’m really not out to kill him,” Wade said patiently.

“My sniper rifle with tranquilizer darts,” Taskmaster elaborated, exasperated. “The last time someone was framed for killing Cable, said someone was drop-kicked out of the mercenary job market, remember?” 

“Just rub it in, why don’t you.” Skull-masked copycat bastard.

#

Despite what certain skull-masked copycat bastard critics thought, Wade was very capable of sneaking into places absolutely quietly, because the yellow boxes could overcompensate out of necessity.

 _-Ohhh bongobongobongo I don’t wanna leave the congo-_

See. Wade scaled the crumbly brick wall to the rusted iron of the roof, careful of his footing. He snuck over to the skylight as quietly as he could.

Why was Wade sneaking up on the roof when there was a perfectly reasonable front door? Why, it’s much cooler entering a derelict building by smashing down through a skylight. Obviously.

Dramatic entrance and three-point perfect landing in the dusty maw of the rail shed later, Wade looked around. Rusted sets of rails and overturned wooden planking snaked up to a stop under stacks of blackened equipment. Three oil drums, two overturned on their sides. The last was filled with newspaper and still burning. Around it, four homeless people in various degrees of facial undergrowth shot him unimpressed red-and-black-spandex-superheroes-are-so-last-year stares. 

Seriously. Wade sometimes didn’t know what America was coming to.

“Hello, concerned citizens!” Wade tried to make the best of a bad job. “I was wondering if any of you could have seen a friend of mine. Tall, bulky, half metal, glowy yellow eye?”

If anything, the homeless people’s stares grew even more unimpressed. One coughed, hacking and phlegmy, turning away.

Attempting to decide between a) leaving this for a bad job and b) burning down the rail shed, Wade nearly didn’t notice the yellow boxes turn into seriousmode boxes. 

_You shouldn’t be here._

“Of course I should,” Wade told the white box. “We’re looking for a friend, remember? Sometimes, white box, you really have to pay attention a little more.”

Confusion. _You know me?_

“You’re me, aren’t you?” 

_I… don’t think so._ Wade turned sharply, looking harder at the shadows. Curled between a cardboard box and the brick wall far to his left was a heavily hooded man.

“Nate?”

 _The others_ , they called me that. Bemusement. A little anger. There was a faint touch over Wade’s mind that quickly recoiled. _What are you? I can’t read you_. 

“I’m really disappointed that you don’t remember the person who’s seen you in nappies, man.” Wade advanced carefully towards the hooded person as unobtrusively as he could. “This Vulcan mindtalk thing is giving me a headache.”

 _The techno-organic virus mutated out of control._ Hesitant, uncomfortable, metallic resentment growing. _Taken over voice box… part of brain functionLEAVE, LEAVE, LEAVE NOW—_

Wade scrambled back as an oil drum was flung at him. The figure rose unsteadily to his feet. Nate looked thinner under all the rags. The left side of his face was heavily swathed in filthy bandages. Power crackled in a blue aura around Nate as he rose—siiigh!—gracefully into the air and flung Wade forcefully through the brick wall.

“…he don’t wanna leave the jungle…” Wade muttered under his breath as he rolled to his feet. His hands itched for his guns, his blades, any weapon, but he kept them loose. It wasn’t as though Wade could do much against a hopped up Nate, anyway.

Wade dived out of the way as a lamppost smashed down, cracking the pavement where he had been. Nate floated out of the warehouse, his left eye blazing through the bandages on his face, one hand outstretched. Heavy objects, including an oil bomb of a car, uprooted lampposts, and a dumpster rose ponderously into the air.

“Nate, I’m sorry for breaking your mini teleport computer, but can’t we talk this through?” Wade asked hopefully.

 _Teleport computer?_ The voice was fainter now. Under a seething sense of alien murderous rage, Nate’s handsome face was contorted with fury. 

“The one you hid in the little statue and tricked me into getting? On Providence?”

Nate hesitated, his outstretched hand wavering. _Providence. Your name. I can almost… remember. I know you._

The dramatic silence was broken by the sharp scream of metal and heavy plastics smashing back down on the pavement. Nate fell heavily onto the pavement on his side, blinking in comical surprise. A small dart protruded from his neck. His right eye cleared and widened, the metallic anger dissipating. The sensation of pain-uncertainty-curiosity was replaced by an overwhelming and choking sense of sheer relief. A rush of visceral images exploded into Wade’s brain, blurring by so quickly Wade couldn’t even begin to pick them out. Wade staggered back under the psychic backlash, clutching at his head. Joyous words were burning into his mind over and over:

_I remember you—_

Another dart sank into Nate’s right shoulder. Nate jerked, his eye rolling up. He slumped to the ground.

What was that all about?

Disoriented and fighting a residual headache, Wade was examining Nate’s pulse with fingers against his throat when Taskmaster strolled up smugly. “What did you shoot into his left shoulder?” Wade asked.

“Unstable metal alloy molecules, big dose. Certain people, meaning the Avengers, have been busy coming up with interesting theories against your not-boyfriend ever since they were defeated. They haven’t been very good with security, though.”

“English please.”

“The theory was that the unstable molecules would primarily target only the techno-organic virus particles…” Taskmaster trailed off when Wade looked increasingly blank. “The shot messes up his metal half and sends it into overdrive trying to repair itself. Mister Fantastic thought that the techno-organic virus would leave off trying to take over and concentrate on that instead.”

“So you shot him with metal virus flu.”

“We can work with that explanation if it makes you feel better. Not sure how long it lasts though. It’s a temporary solution.”

“Cool. And the second dart?”

“Normal tranquilizer.”

“Wait,” Wade said, slowly, “you knew his virus was going crazy?”

“I always do my homework. It’s part of being a professional.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I thought you might like your life being a little more interesting,” Taskmaster retorted, hefting his sniper rifle. “Call the X-Men, hand him over, and we’ll get out of here.” 

Wade pulled back the hood, then the bandages. The left side of Nate’s face was laced with ugly, uneven fingers of metal under his skin. The creepy shit went over Nate’s cheekbones and under his eye, tracing his forehead to his temple.

“You’re going to suggest something remarkably pointless right now, aren’t you? I can feel it,” Taskmaster said with resignation.

“Let’s take him home. Pleease?”

Taskmaster sniffed. “You are so paying for my car to be thoroughly washed after this.”

“You’re the best amoral backstabbing mercenary friend ever!”

#

“He doesn’t have all his brain functions and he’s a little dirty, but I thought Bob and the cat could use a little more company.”

Sandi, Outlaw, and Weasel stared at Nate’s prone body on the floor of the Agency-X office with mixed degrees of horror and shock. Hayden glanced at Taskmaster, who shrugged. 

“Strip him down, run the shower over him for a while and he shouldn’t be any worse than Wilson,” Taskmaster said.

“Yes, but who’s going to…” Hayden paused, as both girls visibly brightened. “Oh no.”

“Spoilsport.” Outlaw folded her arms. “You’ve seen TV and all those Vanity Fair photoshoots. I’m sure Mister Summers is just packing socks under those pants, huh?”

“Socks,” Sandi agreed eloquently, turning red. Beside Wade, Taskmaster twitched. 

“He’s Wilson’s problem and he stays Wilson’s problem. Try not to drown him,” Hayden told Wade. He looked over at Outlaw and Sandi with a scowl. “Look. I don’t want to have to explain to anyone why either of you were caught with your grubby manicured hands down the Messiah’s pants while he was down and out for the count, okay?”

“Who said anything about pants?” Outlaw said innocently and laughed instead as Hayden scowled. “Seriously, you get these moments at the weirdest times, Alex.” 

For the sake of relationship harmony, Wade was stuck with stripping grimy clothes off Nate in the bathtub, muttering to himself all the while. Wade got everything off and bundled to Sandi to be burned. The bathtub had some fun memories for him. The last time Wade had been here he’d been literally out of his mind. Some of the things he’d done in front of Hayden and Sandi hadn’t been dignified, though they were pretty funny to recall at around three in the morning.

A very faint sense of amusement curled within Wade’s mind. _’Boingy boingy’?_

“Oh, shut up. I lose brain matter and I become a funny but harmless creeper. You lose brain matter and you become a psychopath.” Wade unhooked the showerhead and turned on the water, positioning it over Nate’s unmoving body. Heavy muscle had been wasting slowly to show Nate’s ribs. Wade wondered exactly how long Nate had been like this and why. 

Though, Wade had to admit, even malnourished, the girls had a point. Nate definitely hadn’t been packing socks down his pants.

Damnit.

“So you’re awake?” Wade asked.

 _Not particularly. But you’re very loud. Is that the toilet brush?_ A sense of incredulity pressed into Wade’s mind. _You’re going to use the—_

“I’m certainly not going to wash your dangly bits even with gloves on, okay? Especially if you wake up crazy and murderous.” Wade paused. “You can see what I’m holding?”

Confusion. Hesitation. _Somehow. Your eyes. This hasn’t… I have not managed… I don’t remember._

Whatever happened to being immune to telepathy? Muttering darkly under his breath, Wade turned off the shower and liberally squirted liquid soap over his victim. “Goddamn continuity problems and their convenient plot devices. Or does this have to do with the headache you gave me back in the shed?”

 _Lashed out by accident. Not sure._ The touch on Wade’s mind now felt warm. Hesitantly content.

“Well, you can stop sharing.”

_Sharing what?_

“Whatever you’re feeling.” Scrub, scrub. Nothing to relate here, particularly to whoever was giggling behind the obviously noticeable crack in the bathroom door. Two people giggling, at that. “You can stop sharing. I’m not really a new age guy.”

 _I’m not projecting._ Defensiveness. 

“You are, Nate. The yellow boxes are enough company for me, so you can stop.”

Hesitation. Curiosity. Surprise. Faint wonder. _I… ah. I see. It’s probably a side effect for now. Not in control of my—_ There was a pause. _My full name is oddly long, from your recollections. Is one of my middle names really ‘Priscilla’?_

Wade grinned evilly. Suddenly, the day spent with an amnesiac, violent, brain-damaged Nate was looking up.

#

“So each time he starts going crazy we stab him with one of these?” Hayden examined one of the carefully corked unstable molecule darts from Taskmaster’s stolen case.

“Up until his virus mutates around it, maybe.” Taskmaster was looking visibly less pleased about Nate’s presence. Now that the girls had invited him to stay for tea, dinner, and the foreseeable future in either of their apartments and/or the Agency-X office. Nate somehow managed still to look ruggedly handsome despite being arrayed in Hayden’s oversized clothes, so Wade supposed he would commiserate if he wasn’t so busy stealing macaroons off Nate’s bowl. Outlaw and Sandi weren’t his girlfriends. Thank God.

“And you’re assuming that he lets us stick one in his arm while he’s going crazy.” Hayden scowled as Outlaw refilled Nate’s coffee. Funny. Wade had never really figured Hayden for the jealous type.

 _I can leave,_ Nate suggested. Since Nate had ‘woken’ up, the torrential emotional spigot had been wound down to a faint trickle. 

“I said you can stay here as long as you want and I meant it,” Outlaw declared, with a swift glare at Hayden. “Don’t think I don’t know it was you who did the yogurt in, Alex.”

The yogurt again? This conversation got tired three parts ago, hello? Still, this boys-versus-girls-over-a-boy situation was less amusing than Wade had originally thought. Even Weasel had declared himself neutral, and was sitting as far away in the room as he could from Nate without seeming rude. 

“Priscilla will be staying with me, so don’t get your loincloth into a twist, Hayden,” Wade said.

“Stop calling him Priscilla,” Sandi said quickly. “And if he stays with you, you’ll just be feeding him Cheetos and instant ramen. If at all.”

“Those are some first grade instant ramen, I’ll have you know!” Wade told her, offended.

Outlaw did her best kitten impression, turning to divert the entirety of her limpid pleading stare on her boyfriend. “You were once an amnesiac too, Alex.”

Wade could have told her she was wasting her time. “I remember it felt great,” Hayden said. He sprawled down heavily onto his chair. “Even the bits where Tasky here was beating the shit out of me. And the elephant.”

“And in any case, letting him stay or not is irrelevant—” Taskmaster began.

“Because you don’t actually work here,” Hayden said.

“—as it isn’t helping Cable. He’s already told us he doesn’t remember anything beyond waking up in a homeless commune on the southside wharves. He doesn’t know why he goes violent on superheroes, though that’s probably the virus. He doesn’t know how the virus managed to spread into his brain when it didn’t do that before the last time his telepathy got wiped. So.” Taskmaster accepted a macaroon from Sandi. He took off his mask, losing the moment of tension in the process. “Suggestions?”

“What happens if we stick this entire box of needles into his arm?” Hayden gestured at the box.

“It means we’ll be out of needles the next time Cable goes psycho?” Taskmaster hazarded a sarcastic guess.

“We can always leave one or two.”

“I know! I know!” Wade raised his arm, and Taskmaster rolled his eyes. “Teacher, me! Me!”

“Yes… Wilson…?” Taskmaster muttered.

“We catch Wolverine, and then do the blood transfusion!”

“One, we’ll have to catch Wolverine. Though he might come willingly I suppose. Two, what do you think Wolverine is, a universal band-aid? Three, if that sort of shit worked, doesn’t your blood have the same sort of effect?” Taskmaster counted off the points on his fingers.

“We’ve done an involuntary transfusion thing with my blood before, and no, healing factor never did catch. Could be we should just go to the source.” Wade glanced over at Nate, who was being unusually quiet. Maybe he was just hungry. The girls were slow-cooking something for him in the kitchen, something that smelled really good even from here. 

Wade didn’t remember the last time he’d been cooked for in which he didn’t have to pay/threaten/whine at the chef. From the expressions on Hayden’s and Taskmaster’s faces, they didn’t either.

_Slow cooking._

Apparently, being amnesiac plus famous plus being ruggedly handsome had its effect on certain women. 

“Wasn’t his telepathy the one holding things in check before?” Outlaw asked. “Could be something reduced it at some point, and the virus managed to get a tougher hold and got into his brain.” 

“That part’s pretty obvious,” Wade said. “I reckon being blown up at the end of Providence must have done it. Nate, you remember Providence?”

Nate looked up at him briefly and soberly, but shook his head, his faint smile apologetic. This was a cue for both Outlaw and Sandi to hug Nate from over the back of the sofa, causing Nate to blink and nearly spill his coffee. 

“It’s all right,” Sandi said soothingly. Wade had last heard her use that tone with abandoned puppies, “These guys don’t look like much, but they get things done.” 

“Hey!” Hayden protested. He glanced over at Taskmaster, who shrugged fatalistically. “All right. More suggestions, before your boyfriend steals our girlfriends.” 

There was a faint press of curiosity on Wade’s mind. _Boyfriend?_

Wade ignored him. Explaining Hayden’s bad jokes tended to take too long. Outlaw grinned at Alex and said, “What about we amplify Nate’s telepathy? He might be able to push it out of his brain.”

“I’ve thought of that,” Taskmaster said, earning himself a dirty look from Sandi. “What’s the most obvious psychic enhancer you guys can think of?”

“The X-Men’s Cerebro,” Wade said. “Shiny toy in their basement. I don’t think they’ll object if we ask.” A pause. “Probably.” Longer pause. “If we put away all our weapons and show them our hands.” 

“Cerebro’s users all need to have well-trained and disciplined minds or the psychic feedback can cause comas or insanity,” Taskmaster said. “By all accounts, Cable’s not in control of his ability at the moment. Worse, if the techno-organic virus comes back in force while he’s using Cerebro…?” 

“We’ll be dealing with a really hopped up psycho!Cable,” Hayden said. He placed the dart back into its box. “So what we do is, take him to Cerebro, stick half of these darts into his arm, and then stand way back and let the X-Men handle it.”

It was a plan worthy of any mercenary mind. Pro bono work was at best someone else’s problem and at worst a waste of ammo. So why did Wade feel so uncomfortable about the proposal? The X-Men were far better equipped to handle psychotic people, recent business aside. Wade looked back carefully over what he had eaten for lunch. Perhaps the lunchtime hotdog had been a bit off. Or the uneasiness wasn’t his in the first place.

One way to find out.

Wade put his hand abruptly on Nate’s shoulder— _mutantsBrightlightAngerHelplessnessPAINPAINPAIN_ —He snatched his hand away quickly, scrambling back. Nate dropped his cup.

There was a strained pause as Wade’s brain tried to convince itself that it was the only brain in his head. 

“… What just happened?” Taskmaster was the first to get over his shock. 

The hell? Was that what Nate was bottling up inside? Nate had been calmly sipping coffee and eating macaroons for the last twenty fucking minutes! Also, hadn’t the girls hugged Nate at one point with no apparent reaction?

So how did Wade—

 _NATE?_ Wade formed the word in his mind as loudly as he could.

Nate flinched. 

Oh, you fucking bastard.

 _I’m definitely not projecting, Wade. I’ve been suppressing everything as much as I can._ Concern. Mild anxiety.

_No, and I’ve put my hands on you in a totally platonic way—er meaning I kicked your ass enough times to know THAT ISN’T NORMAL. I could hear what you were thinking. When I put my hands on you. Platonically._

_I can hear your thoughts and emotions, but not the others’ when suppressing, so it’s not a failure of control. I think._ Great. Second-hand apprehension. _An involuntary telepathic bond should not be possible._

Wade was telepathically linked to amnesiac Nate? Great. This had to be fun at parties, right? One person could deal, and the other one could peek at other people’s cards. One person could spike the punch, the other could stand watch. All he traded off was being previously unreadable telepathically by Nate, including parts of his memory involving involuntary projections of beaches and suntan lotion…siiiiigh. _Fix it NOW._

 _I’ve already tried. I’m not even really sure where to begin._ Nate paused. _What is WD-40 and why do you want to put it on the techno-organic virus infection?_

 _Nothing!_ Oh well. It wasn’t like this sort of thing couldn’t be fixed by other people. Right? Right? _I guess this is where we add a pinch of Jean Grey and half a cup of Xavier._

Nate stood up. Everyone flinched back. Hayden’s hands twitched to the empty holsters at his hips. Anger sparked so fiercely into Wade’s mind that he bared his teeth, his hands curling into claws. He winced at the stitched flood of images that roared into his mind.

_Not. XAVIER._

“Uh. Everyone heard that one?” Wade asked into the nervous silence.

“Hello? Wilson? Explain?” Hayden had a corked dart in his hands.

“It wasn’t Providence exploding that kicked up the virus.”

#

In Wade’s opinion, hiding in large ice cream trucks was the mercenary stealth equivalent of writing ‘HELLO, THIS IS SUSPICIOUS’ in big pink neon letters over your stealth plane. Taskmaster was however already highly strung enough that further criticism was probably not a good idea.

They were trying to sneak into the X-Mansion. Which was pretty much impossible in a large group, even if they did the usual thing of starting an altercation on the lawn and having someone else sneak in through the sewers or the back door. Wasn’t it obvious if they randomly attacked the X-People out of nowhere? Of the ‘HELLO, WE ARE PROBABLY NOT NATE’S FRIENDS’ sort of obvious? 

Admittedly, Taskmaster was usually very prepared for any situation up to the point he stabbed you in the back. Now Wade, Nate, Hayden. Outlaw, and Bob were in a suspicious ice cream truck, while back at Agency-X, Weasel and Sandi were working on hacking into the X-Mansion’s defenses. 

“Tasky, Outlaw, me, Bob get to be the distraction on the front lawn,” Hayden said. He was poring over a blueprint of the X-Mansion’s layout on his lap. “You and Nate get to go in through the back service tunnel here. Along where the X-plane usually exits. Which we will open up. Hopefully all the booby traps, if any, would be disabled by then.” 

“Working on it,” Weasel said through speakerphone. 

“Sure you guys will be all right?” Sandi asked anxiously. Bit late to be concerned, Sandi!

“My Hydra training is telling me this is a bad idea, Mister Wilson,” Bob said faintly from a corner of the truck. Bob had come back to Agency-X after a date with his wife and had promptly been snagged into the fiasco. 

“You have to develop yourself above and beyond the training, man!” Hayden slapped Bob on the shoulder cheerfully.

Faced with the prospect of fighting some of the best-trained defenders of mankind/mutantkind/kittens, many of whom were nubile women in spandex that left nothing to the imagination, Hayden was in high spirits. Lucky sod.

 _Thank you all for your efforts_ , Nate projected. He looking better fitted out in Taskmaster’s spare clothes. Black jeans and a gray shirt. 

“Hey, don’t sweat it. Just remember, if this works,” Hayden said brightly, “any sort of help you could provide with regards to paying off a time machine loan would really help.” 

Outlaw rolled her eyes.

“What?” Hayden protested.

“Traps are down!” Weasel interrupted the Awkward Moment. “Get ready to roll!” He paused. “I’ve always wanted to say that.” Another pause. “Should I have said it earlier?”

#

The flight tunnel for the X-plane was dimly lit when not in use. To Wade’s disappointment, there definitely weren’t any booby traps. In fact, there wasn’t anyone at all. Maybe the altercation on the front lawn was actually doing its job.

Wade had to admit that he wasn’t too that Xavier and S.H.I.E.L.D. had been behind Nate’s recent Issues. They’d always had a problem with Providence and the de facto power it held over world affairs. In particular, they’d had a problem with one man having so much power over world affairs. Wade didn’t really have an opinion either way, at least when said man wasn’t abusing his power to manipulate his friends. Wade was more of a ‘my next hotdog’ sort of guy rather than an ‘everyone’s next hotdog’ sort of person.

The last time Nate had lost his TK and gotten eaten by the virus, the only other person around to see it had been Wade. He rather doubted Xavier or Fury would’ve tried to install the psychic suppressant if they’d known what would happen. From Nate’s confused memories, it did look like the suppressor was removed immediately by someone who once the virus promptly ate over his face and into his brain. So _someone_ had second thoughts.

 _Jean Grey removed it,_ Nate supplied quietly. _But it was too late._

Wade wasn’t a brain surgeon by any measure or length, but he was fairly sure that once you lost bits of your brain you wouldn’t get back your memories. He could still feel Nate’s anger, his sense of furious violation. Wade knew what it was like to have your mind permanently screwed with. What made it worse was that they’d tried it with _Nate_. All because he’d tried to fix up the world and things had blown up in his face.

 _You didn’t like all that I had done_ , Nate told him.

“You remember that much, huh?” Wade asked quietly. 

_No, but I can see that you didn’t like it._

“Didn’t like it, but you tried. More than what I can say most of the world has done. You fixed up some things, fucked up some things, but at the end you’re human, just like the rest of us,” Wade said. 

_Someone imperfect should not have the power to dictate how the world should run._

“Virus must’ve eaten up more of your brain than I thought.” Wade actually turned to look at Nate incredulously. “Holy shit. Marvel’s blatant incarnation of the White Guy Saviour Trope actually turned self-aware at the fucking last.” 

The glow of his left eye painted odd shadows over a cheek scarred by the virus. Nate smiled thinly. _I don’t think I ever felt otherwise. I just felt that it was better than doing nothing. Some things closer within me I remember more clearly. I want you to know I do remember now that I love you._

Wade tripped over his foot.

Thankfully, the unstable molecule darts had been well-wrapped against trauma at his hip. Tasky really had thought of everything. Wade slowly picked himself off the ground, ignoring Nate’s outstretched hand. WHAT. 

_Wade?_ Nate’s anxiety felt itchy in his mind.

“What… I mean, Domino… and well even maybe Irene and… whaaat…” Wade took a deep breath. He felt along their bond a little and had to flinch back. The affection, the warmth he could see, was real. Wade didn’t want to think about this. Not now. Maybe not ever. “Maybe you don’t remember, but you never told me before!” 

_Have I not?_ The itchy back-brain feeling turned into puzzlement. _The others referred to me as your boyfriend. Even in their minds._

Oh, he was so going to kill everyone now. “You and I are going to have a long talk, after this.” Kill them in a fire. “A very long and possibly awkward talk.” In a car fire.

#

Naturally, the actual Cerebro chamber was guarded. And naturally, the person lounging against the console was the fucking Wolverine. Because of fandom bias and because Wolverine’s been involved in every form of animated X-Men media since the Dawn of Man.

“Coulda’ sworn it,” Wolverine said. He looked unimpressed as Wade thumbed the safety of his guns. “Not many people got the balls t’break into the Mansion. Or do it with such a half-assed plan.” 

“Worked, didn’t it?” Wade wasn’t sure which bits of the machinery was okay to break and which would make Cerebro go haywire. Big spherical room, tiny small computer desk with perm machine… with Wade’s luck, he would definitely hit the perm machine. “How about you and I step out into the corridor and duke it out?”

“I’ve been given enough second chances t’know sometimes you should get one even if you don’t deserve it.” Wolverine patted the console. “You got them darts, Wilson?”

“Yeah.”

“Stick a couple into his arm and let him get started.” Logan jerked his thumb at Nate, who looked confused. “’Course, if you start t’go crazy, I’ve got two sets o’ claws that can fix that right up, bub.”

Trust fandom’s most popular character to have the best lines. “Does everyone upstairs on the lawn agree with you?” Wade asked sulkily.

Logan shrugged. “His dad does. Couple o’ the others. Not the rest. But they haven’t had a good work out for a while. Your friends won’t be killed, if that’s what you’re ‘fraid of.”

Nate winced as Wade jabbed two of the darts into his metallic arm, staggering a little. Dizziness. Pain. Relief. “You all right, Nate?” Wade asked.

 _Yes._ Nate looked to Wolverine, then back to Wade. _You’ll both stop me if it takes over._ It wasn’t a request, but Logan nodded.

“You can’t take over either o’ us. Healin’ factor. All you’ve got left is your telekinesis, an’ I got ways around that.”

Wade couldn’t think of any snappy dialogue offhand. ‘Be careful’ was a bit too retro Disney Princess. ‘Get well soon’ was downright inadequate. “This is a little too easy, if you ask me.”

Logan snorted. “I’ll tell you I wasn’t there when the Professor got talked into putting a collar on Cable, but I certainly was there when he said he regretted it. I believe him, Wilson. Don’t care if you believe me, but this is the best chance you’ve got t’fix your boyfriend.”

“Have I ever told you that I hate you too?” He was never going to be able to explain this to Nate. 

“It’s up t’Cable t’decide if he wants t’trust us or not.” 

_All right_. Nate walked past Logan, sat down at the console, and pulled Cerebro over his head. 

They waited.

And waited.

And waited.

In the loud and empty sound of nothing happening, Wade asked, “Any chance of a hotdog and a coke? I’m starved.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “I’ll call up an’ see if Kitty is still in the kitchen.”

#

Two hot dogs, three cokes, one trip to the bathroom, and two games of poker with Logan and Hayden (a.k.a. Healing Factor Guys) after, Hayden was dealing when Nate sat up sharply in his seat with a harsh gasp.

Two mercenaries and one ex-mercenary could go from playing poker to fully armed in a heartbeat. Nate took Cerebro off and turned the chair around. He smiled wryly at the sight of two pairs of guns and one set of claws. 

“Stand down, please.” Nate’s voice was scratchy and hoarse, but the virus had been pushed off his face. Hell, it’d been pushed down all the way to his collarbone.

“Quick popular quiz. What was your secretary’s name on Providence?” Wade asked. 

“Irene Merryweather. I remember some things. Not all.” Nate got to his feet, ignoring how they tensed. “With Cerebro’s help I have pushed back the virus. Thank you.”

“That’s it?” Hayden asked, disbelieving. “Two fight scenes and one of them’s off-screen? Is this just one of those dubious background setup stories?”

“You got to fight the nubile ladies, I got to fight a hopped up hobo,” Wade retorted. 

“But offscreen,” Hayden muttered. “Nobody saw me put the smackdown on Nightcrawler.”

“Nobody cares when you put the smackdown on Nightcrawler.” Wade said dismissively. “It’s not like you beat on anyone actually really popular.” 

Logan ignored them both, his eyes narrowed. “So, what now? You goin’ back t‘guidin’ the world?”

“We know how that turned out,” Nate said. He exhaled. “I will have to think about this for a while.”

“Just so you know, if you need a place t’stay—”

“How come he gets a free place to stay in the X-Mansion?” Wade folded his arms. “I’m also an X-Man and I don’t.”

“You’re not an X-Man, Wilson.”

“Honorary!”

“I don’t think I am fully welcome here,” Nate said dryly, “and in any case, I think I was due to have a long talk with Wade over shared emotions.”

Awkward. 

Wade raised a hand. “Uh, Nate? Don’t know about the future, but that’s not the sort of things you say to other guys here unless everyone’s heavily armed.”

“Since when are you not heavily armed?” Hayden asked. He snickered.

“That’s not the point, Hayden!” Wade growled.

“You’re perpetuating a toxic masculinity trope, Wade!” 

“Everyone just fuck off. Now,” Logan said wearily.

#

“You actually do have money.” As awkward conversations went, there were worse ways to start. They were on the roof of his apartment block, looking out over the seedy neighbourhood. Somewhere, someone was likely getting robbed, stabbed, punched or spat on. All the lanes off the main thoroughfares stank of rubbish, cat dumps, and stale human urine. It was the sort of place Wade felt he belonged. Compared to Providence, where he was merely welcomed.

Besides, the rest of the day before this hadn’t been great. Xavier, Jean Grey, and Emma Frost had tried to disengage their minds. It had not only failed but had given the three of them such a headache that in apparent apology, Nate had invited everyone plus Agency-X minus Wade and Nate to dinner. So as to ‘give us space to work things out in private’. The telepaths had kept a straight face, Logan had looked away quickly, and Hayden had stifled a cough.

Wade would kill them later. Really. Maybe after he killed Nate.

“Yes, Wade. I have offered to pay you before, remember? For mercenary jobs, here and there. And to change sides during the war.”

“But no credit card.” 

“I don’t really see the logic of credit cards. And most of my finances are managed by Irene.” Nate had dutifully paid out the time machine loan and then some, much to Hayden’s delight. Somewhere in an overpriced restaurant, Agency-X plus Taskmaster plus the X-Men were busy getting drunk over fancy lobster patty cakes or whatever on Nate’s tab. While Wade got to stand with White Guy Saviour Trope on a chilly apartment block roof and ‘work out their emotions’.

Lucky Wade.

“I thought you didn’t see the point in money,” Wade said. 

“I didn’t understand its concept,” Nate said. He stood at a respectful distance away from Wade, arms folded and looking down at the street. “But I do understand its significance to this timeline.” 

“You don’t really belong here, do you? Same way I never really fit in Providence. You’re Back to the Future, and we’re all still in your retro-land.” Wade had his elbows out, palms under his chin, looking forward. Couple of blocks away, fluorescent tubes fought a retreating battle with vandalism. 

“No.” 

“But it didn’t matter.” 

“Not after a while.” Nate smiled wearily. “Getting used to having the whole world covered in people again was difficult. Getting used to how we were killing each other over trivialities even before Apocalypse had awoken was even harder.” 

“So you decided to interfere.” 

“Aye.” 

“But you can’t change history.” 

“Aye.” 

“So what are you going to do now, White Jesus?” 

“Take a bit of time off. Collect my thoughts. Maybe start again at the very beginning. I first came to this timeline to destroy Apocalypse. Somewhere along the line, I’ve gotten sidetracked.” 

“You call what you’ve done ‘sidetracked’? Trying to solve world hunger during breakfast, sort out world trade disputes before lunch, nuclear disarmament before dinner? Then the house of cards sinks into the sea and everything’s back to how it was. Doesn’t take one man to change the world. Takes the rest of the world to want to come along as well.” 

“I see that now.” 

“Only took nearly dying and getting blown up, yeah?” 

“Only that.” Nate cracked another smile. “Aren’t we getting sidetracked too?” 

“Just wanted to know what you were going to do next.” Wade tried to sound as nonchalant as he could. “See where I might be fitting in.” 

Pleasure pulsed in a fuzzy way in the back of Wade’s mind. “I thought you’d be more of the running away from me screaming sort,” Nate said. 

“Before I took a really close look in your head, maybe.” The bond had its benefits. For the first time, Wade had looked at someone as the sum total of all their parts and aspects and it had humbled him. ‘Running away’ in Wade’s lexicon usually meant ‘strategically retreating to find a bigger weapon’. It didn’t really seem applicable here when Nate’s soul was open to his eyes, battered, flawed, fragmented over a heart so large that all of the free world’s leaders had found it frightening. “I’m not so sure you got that good a look in mine.” 

“Before the… accidental link? Never. You couldn’t be read.” 

“Had a good look now?” 

“Several times,” Nate admitted. “I think you’ve been trying to change, for a while. It’s been slow going, but that’s more than what most people in your shoes would do.” 

Fifty issues plus of slow going. “So. How long have you had non-platonic feels for me, huh?” 

“I can’t answer that. I do recall checking in on you often. In lieu of saving the world.” 

And Wade had thought that all of Nate’s sudden ass-saving appearances now and then in their shared comic had just been gratuitous. “In this era, people kinda call that stalking.” 

“Only if it causes the victim fear and anxiety,” Nate said. “Otherwise, it appears to be part of normative courtship behaviour?” 

Wade so wished Nate would occasionally brush up a little more on 21st century speech patterns before his brain broke further. “Excuse me?” 

“I didn’t see what else would be applicable.” 

“And all the… you kicked me out of Providence once… and you did this really bastardy thing during the civil war… and you never bothered to correct the general misapprehension that I’d killed you so I never could get much work…” Wade looked closer. “Kicked out of the house. ‘Healthy relationships have arguments’? ‘Didn’t want me to be doing something dangerous’? I should really fucking kill you.” 

“I never managed to find out how to ask you without having to deal with potential misunderstandings.” 

“So what do you do in the future?” 

“Sexual prejudices no longer exist. When you want someone, you ask. If they agree, they agree. If they move on, so do you. Logical.” 

“Wow.” Wade tried to wrap his flailing mind around that. This was more than what Wade deserved, in the face of all the cues he’d just realized he had missed or looked over. At the very corners of Wade’s mind, there was a gentle, insistent sense of probing that somehow didn’t feel invasive. A blanketing sense of relief, warmth, connection. “How deep did you look?”

“As far as I could.” Nate said. 

“Then you do know.” Nate had been the most important person in Wade’s world for a long time. He’d just never thought about what that meant. 

“I’m still here, aren’t I? I’ve known since the rail shed.” Nate was shifting closer. As much as part of Wade wanted to freak out and dive over the side, the rest of him kept him stock-still, even when a large hand slid up and over the small of his back. 

“Then the pep talk?”

“I was just waiting for the rest of you to catch up.” Nate didn’t move further until Wade pulled up his mask to his nose. The kiss was inevitable and sweet.

#

Somewhere along the line of surprisingly hot new age sharing telepathic foreplay curled against Nate on his complaining bed, Wade stopped being able to figure out where his lust stopped and Nate’s desire began. He could feel-hear Nate’s moan against his neck as he arched under the tide of shared want. This was possibly the most fucked up sex Wade had ever been engaged in. By far the hottest. And they hadn’t even started yet, outside of getting naked and heavy petting.

Nate’s way of ‘working things out in private’ did have its benefits. The future was indeed enlightened. Wade felt Nate’s amusement as lips pressed down scarred and disfigured flesh, lapping over his Adam’s apple into the hollow of his neck. Nate’s thick erection was pressed over his. Nate braced an arm against the bed, while his free hand curled around their dicks. 

He was having sex with Nate. 

TIME Magazine’s Person of the Year. 

People Magazine’s Hottest Man of the Year. 

There was something wrong.

With. 

The world. 

Here. 

“You’re making me laugh,” Nate said. “Stop.”

“We’re both going ‘round the bend,” Wade said, tentatively sliding a hand down Nate’s back. He ran his fingers over the merge of flesh and techno-organic metal, felt Nate’s pleasure rather than heard the purr. 

“It’ll get better.” Nate’s mouth was on his nipple now and ohdidthatfeel good. “See.” 

Smug bastard. Wade pushed his hips up and against Nate’s cock, causing a growl. He reached down to run his fingers curiously over unfamiliar, thickened flesh, lower to silver curls, lower still to soft, cool sacs that made Nate moan against him and grind downwards. Ha. Wade was having gay sex for the first time but nobody could say he wasn’t a quick study. And he wasn’t even freaking out. It had to be the confusing telepathic bond. Wade couldn’t tell. And Nate himself. 

“First time?” Nate paused, looking up.

“Pretty sure.” Wade fought the urge to laugh hysterically and gripped Nate’s shoulder instead when Nate tried to get up. “Where are you going?” 

_Kiss_ , Nate demanded-asked. Oh, right. Wade opened his mouth, leaned up into the messy press of tongues. Hands ran soothingly down his sides even as Wade pressed his own over the sharp defines of muscle and the sharper ridges of ribs. Higher still to the scars over Nate’s right eye, tracing them with his fingers. Nate shuddered. Wade caught a blurred image of reason and circumstance. He pulled Nate back down. 

Another kiss, drowning in Nate’s contentment, Nate’s pleasure. “No, Yours,” Nate murmured, a thrumming background in his mind. _Half yours_ , he amended as they kissed again urgently. 

Absorbed, Wade didn’t notice the lube until startlingly cold fingers swept slickly over his cock, squeezing as some of his pleasure wilted under the shock of sensation. Wow. Were they really going to…?

 _Your first time, you said?_ Nate’s mind held an image of a position that was abruptly as clear as day when they kissed, and it broke Wade’s brain again. “Won’t hurt,” Nate whispered. 

“No, I mean… well, I thought that you would be the one on top, following y’know fandom stereotypes, but wow.”

“What?” Nate was doing something fucking hot with his fingers to himself. Wade pushed at Nate’s elbows until he let up, straddling Wade’s hips and sitting up so Wade could get a clearer view of Nate stretching himself with his own fingers. Legs spread, cheeks flushed, free hand braced on the bed. Wow. TO fingers. Nate’s ass. _Wow_. 

“I think… ufh… suntan lotion, WD-40, and the beach… is really a sign of a small imagination after all,” Wade managed to say in a strangled voice. Nate grinned, circled metallic fingers around Wade’s cock, and lowered himself down. Nice and slow.

Somewhere in the sudden flood of sensation and mental images, Wade found himself devoutly hoping he hadn’t already embarrassed himself. He was swept up by the backlash of pleasure-affection-hurt-concern-need, his fingers clawed into the sheets. Nate was sinking down inch by inch and fuck if that wasn’t the hottest thing Wade had ever seen. All the way down until Nate gave this little sigh, his head thrown back and his bottom lip caught in his teeth. 

Wow. 

“Kiss now,” Wade commanded, breathless. Hands. Yes. Left to Nate’s hip. Right hand to Nate’s cock, pleased at the little shudder he got, then the moan as Wade pushed a nail over the tip. Nate bent down. The kiss was frantic and sloppy, then impressions got messy and it was so goddamned tight and hot and fuuck… Wade drew the residual sense of pain to himself, the weird impression of completeness. This probably couldn’t get weirder.

And then Nate began to move.

 _Done this before?_ Wade didn’t trust his voice box anymore. It was making all sorts of embarrassing choking noises.

“Not often,” Nate said, “but the mechanics of coupling aren’t much different in any position.” 

_You did not just say that while riding me._ Nate grinned, all breathlessness and bared teeth. He leaned back and rocked forward. Wade jerked up, dragging at Nate’s cock and gasping incoherently. Wade’s cock was in Nate but he certainly wasn’t in control of the matter. He didn’t care. Wade probably should be making more of an effort though. Nobody could say Wade wasn’t a team player. 

Wade’s first thrust upwards made Nate’s face twist in pain that he stifled quickly. He chuckled at Wade’s quick apology. The second thrust got a deep, startled groan. Lucky, lucky. Wade braced the balls of his feet against the sheets. He dragged Nate’s metallic hand down to replace his hand on Nate’s cock and dug both his fingers into Nate’s hips. Went to town until his knees ached, until his lungs burned. Nate rode him just has hard, stripping his cock. That view, goddamn. Wade could get used to the view. Nate shuddered with a choked moan as hot semen coated fingers and Wade’s belly and Wade could _feel_ that, feel the spike of pleasure and fullness and adoration. Wade ground upwards with a hoarse curse in three languages. They rode out the tremors, breathing each other’s air. 

Nate eventually grew too heavy. Wade pushed until Nate yawned, pulled away, and curled up next to him. Nate tucked a heavy arm over Wade’s belly, mouth pressed against Wade’s neck. A sleepy buzz was all Wade could hear in the back of his mind. Figured. 

“Nate?”

“Mm?”

“If you’re moving in, you’ll better be the one doing the laundry.” 

“Mm.” Nate didn’t move. 

Okay, so maybe Wade was cuddling up. Only because Nate was too heavy to push away.

#

Agency-X stared suspiciously at the black forest cake that Wade unwrapped on Hayden’s new desk.

“Diarrhetic agent,” Taskmaster said. 

“Bomb.” Outlaw. 

“Snake venom.” Sandi. 

“Glass shards.” Weasel. 

“… Mister Wilson?” Bob. 

“Mutant flu virus.” Hayden crossed his pudgy arms, though he did look hungry. “Bets up, people.” 

“It’s not poisoned or trapped or anything,” Wade said. He slapped down the receipt of purchase next to the cake. “It’s from the shop down the road. I just bought it.” 

“I always knew that that cake shop was an underworld front,” Hayden said. “Okay. I’ll bite. What’s the occasion?” 

“Thanks to all your perverted thoughts around a telepath and your help at the X-Mansion—” 

Hayden goggled. “You got laid? Seriously? I mean, I thought it was heading in that direction, but I mean, this is _Marvel_. I thought you were either gonna fuck it up or they’d fade to black.”

“I hate you, Hayden,” Wade said. 

“All right. Well, I won’t hold it against you, especially since you still owe me money.” Hayden began to cut a slice. 

“Don’t listen to him. I’m very happy for you Wade,” Sandi said, patting his shoulder. 

“Even though you just dealt us a terrible blow,” Outlaw agreed. 

Wade considered elaborating that Nate and Nate’s future was pan, but he stayed quiet as Outlaw hugged him. The mask twisted his knowing smirk into a smile. 

“So where did he go? Back to raising the island? Solving desertification? Global warming?” Taskmaster asked. He stared warily at the cake. 

“Gone to talk things over with Fury and Xavier,” Wade said. 

“In a way that involves a lot of explosions and property damage?” Taskmaster asked. 

“Didn’t look like it,” Wade said. More’s the pity. “I thought that now that we’ve saved the world, we could take the afternoon off, get a beer and a slice, watch magic play the cavs on tv.”

“This is good cake!” Hayden said, muffled. Sandi snatched the cake knife away from her employer as he tried to shovel the whole cake onto his paper plate. 

Taskmaster watched Hayden closely for any signs of poisoning, then turned back to the confectionery suspiciously. “Now Bob can try it, we watch them for fifteen minutes, and if nothing happens—” 

“I get the couch!” Wade settled down, rooting for the remote as Sandi began to cut the cake.


	21. Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate brings Hope to Wade.

Five minutes after Al finally got tired of whoever was knocking on the door and shuffled away to check, Wade felt a bony old lady finger tap him on the shoulder. “Hey.”

“Who was that? Mailman? Milkman? Do they even have milkmen anymore? Girl scout? Pizza that I didn’t know I wanted?”

“It’s your ex. Holding a baby.”

Wade changed the channel. “Ha ha, very funny. Pretty sure I used a condom the last time. I only have a fuckbuddy thing going with Outlaw, and I don’t remember sleeping with anyone else… ugh… maybe Typhoid Mary. They wouldn’t wouldn’t just knock on the door if they had any Accidents.” Knocking? It would’ve been a shoot first, shoot more later sort of incident.

“Be that way, but I’ve told him that he could use the bathroom.” Al settled back in her armchair with an old lady crabby mutter and picked up her knitting.

Wait a minute. “What do you mean ‘he’?!”

“Dig your goddamned ears, sonny.”

“I’m pretty sure I was never involved in any sort of mpreg situation!” Images of a distended Arnold Schwartzenegger dressed in a pink maternity robe danced across Wade’s vision and tortured the remnants of his irises. 

“If an ex shows up on your doorstep with a baby,” Al said, “there are three scenarios, hotshot. One, you’re an asshole. Two, he’s an asshole. Three, you’re both assholes.”

“Loving the odds.” Ah, what the hell. Wade dug up his mask from under the pillows, dusted it off, and dragged it onto his face. He dug around some more to find his pistol. 

In the bathroom, Wade took one look at the techno-organic arm and leveled his pistol at Nate’s back. “You’ve got some nerve, Nate.”

Nate looked up into Wade’s reflection in the mirror. For a moment, Wade even felt sorry for him. Nate looked utterly exhausted. He was thinner and more scarred than Wade remembered. Dark circles were set under his eyes and his mouth was drawn in a thin line. “Wade.”

“Where’s the kid?” A giggle from the bathtub answered his question. The little tyke couldn’t be more than two years old. She was playing with the shallow water like she’d never felt warm water before. Awkwardly, Wade ducked his pistol behind his back and put on his best ‘Haha, toy gun!’ expression. “Forgot your keys or something?”

“Fixed the transporter. Found a way to jump backwards.” Nate was washing his face, soot and grime staining the basin a muddy gray. “The future’s no place for her. Can’t hide there. No allies.”

“Wow, you think that you’d have, I don’t know, thought that out a little before you jumped forward? I mean, seeing as you came from the future?”

“It was the only place I could think of when we did the rescue, Wade.”

“X-Mansion? Avengers Building? SHIELD aircraft? Hell, Baxter Building?”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t? What do you mean can’t? Why did you come here?”

“I trust you.”

… Aww. Wade steeled himself against the warm fuzzies. “Yeah, right. Hell of a way to show that. The last time we were in Providence you kicked me out. I like the solo act, though. Having my own title, that’s been pretty good for my PR. You’d never know, maybe I’d even get my own movie someday.”

Nate curled his fingers around the edges of the basin. “If you don’t want us here, we’ll go.”

“I didn’t say that.” Wade walked over to the tub, ignoring how Nate tensed. Wade squatted down, carefully hiding his gun behind the toilet. “Hello, cutie. You’re past the vomiting and involuntary bowel movement stage, are you? Best stage of life ever for free hugs.”

The girl giggled, pointing at his hand. Wade reached out hesitantly. Small fingers ran over scars and waxen skin. The girl giggled again. “Wade,” she said.

“You can talk? Smart kid.” Wade looked over his shoulder at Nate. “No, really, you came back to the past and then decided to hit up ol’ Wade? For safety? Have you seen the neighborhood?”

“They’ll be expecting me to go to the X-men, or the Avengers. Not here,” Nate said quietly. “Strange is thinking of a way to mask her presence. We just need to lie low for a while.”

“I’m not your personal doormat, Nate.” Yeah, right. He probably has his name tattooed on your bum. _Oh, you shut up, yellow box._ No really, have you checked your bum recently? “And you’re not exactly on the loyalty card.”

“I still have money.”

Dooooormat. “Fine.” Yeah, take his money and pretend that that’s what it’s all about, you sap. “I think I have ice cream in the fridge that’s only juust past its expiry. Do you want some just-past-expiry ice cream? I know you do. What was her name again? Faith? Chastity? Please tell me it’s not Chastity.”

“Hope,” Nate said. He squeezed Wade’s shoulder, then curled an arm around Wade’s waist.

“No making out in front of the kid. Maybe later. But not now.” Wade warned. A stubbled cheek pressed over his shoulder as Nate settled down against him on the tiles.

“Mm.” Nate murmured, closing his eyes. His breathing evened quickly into sleep.

There was probably something sweet going on here, but Nate weighed a fucking _ton_ and was crushing Wade’s spine. Had to be the virus. “You’re really, very cute,” Wade told Hope, trying to worm out of Nate’s grip.

“You,” Hope pointed with one unsteady kiddie finger.

“Aww. I think you have my eyes.” And your heart, and what’s left of your piddly brain. “Let’s prop your other daddy up against the washbasin and go get some ice cream. Prance around the park fountains. Get sick on candyfloss. Start having a normal childhood.” Other daddy? Who died and made you her daddy? And how does that sound like a normal childhood? “My treat.”


	22. Styrofoam Pumpkins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Future AU, Messiah War, Halloween

On the wasteland, the ancient ruins of a Walmart stood partly buried by a landslide of debris. It was shored up by years of debris and ringed by the few thorny gray scrubs that still survived this far out from the blast zones. The Walmart had been used as a den by mutated animals after the Great Plagues and Thermonuclear One. It had been abandoned, retaken, and up until five minutes ago, had been used as a lair by a nest of wasteland raiders.

“Life’s not going to get better, so this jumping forward and forward and forward plot device shtick is really meh, if you think about it. I mean, look at this can of baked beans. It’s so waaaay past its expiry date that the beans inside’ve probably developed religion,” Wade said.

“Even if they did, you’d eat them anyway,” Hope said. She tried her best not to breathe through her nose. Bullets were scarce out in the wastes, but Wade was very good at killing raiders without bullets. Usually in a messy way. She tried not to look too closely at the bloody heaps still steaming on the sandy ground around the Walmart.

“Food is food,” Wade said, a little indistinctly.

“Are you seriously eating it?”

“I was gonna give you some, so don’t give me that face.”

“I… might have thrown up in my mouth a little.”

“Fine, be that way.” Wade tossed the now-empty can off into a corner, wiping his mouth with relish.

Wade’s costume was more patchwork rag than spandex now. His healing factor had ‘kicked back into normal’, in Wade’s words. Waxen and lumpy skin had grown back over his teeth his old wounds. Wade’s eyes even looked human again. Wade had attributed his dubious improvement cheerfully to the presence of ‘his little angel’, but Hope wasn’t so sure.

The abrupt jump forward into the timestream had separated all of them from each other. Hope and Wade had jumped forward only a matter of ten minutes apart, but Cable was nowhere–or no _when_ –to be seen. For the first two months they’d managed to eke out a living around the area, checking back on the jump spot every day. Two months had turned to three, then four, and they’d had to move further afield for food and water.

Hope picked up a strewn can gingerly and tossed it aside. They were looking for purification pellets. Even if the Walmart had been long scavenged, sometimes the raiders hoarded them. She tried not to look over her shoulder as Wade began scrunching on something else. “Water pellets, Wade.”

“You’re doing just fine, girl.” It sounded like Wade was now searching the bodies. “Say, have you ever considered eating—”

“Eww!”

“I didn’t even finish that sentence,” Wade said, hurt. “Man, you really think the worst of me. Bullets! This one has bullets. God damn. This is my happy day.” Metal clinked into the patchwork pouch at Wade’s hip. “And a knife! You can have the knife. I will keep the bullets.”

“Thanks,” Hope said dryly. She ventured deeper into the Walmart.

She had a pistol now, in a haphazardly fashioned holster at her waist, and a small dagger taken off a raider a few weeks ago. This part of the wastes was slowly starting to recover. Which meant that there were the occasional human settlement—and scattered raider camps. After Stryfe and Apocalypse had disappeared, the world tried to move on. The World Governments had left caches of food and supplies scattered around the globe before Thermonuclear One, all sealed and packed with the latest technology at that time. Without the constant threat of raids from Stryfe, some settlements had even expanded.

As a rule, Hope and Wade avoided the settlements and went after the raider camps. Despite Wade’s constant protests that she had to learn how to get along with other people, Hope still remembered very clearly what had happened to the last settlement that had taken in Nate and herself. She was being hunted, and she didn’t want to bring death onto anyone else’s head. 

The canned food in this Walmart was mostly left intact. Unlike Wade, even Raiders had standards. To Hope’s relief, down another aisle there were water pellets in a small pile. Probably belonged to the dead raiders. Hope looked around for something to put them in, and found an orange plastic container on another shelf. It had an angry face made out of sharp triangles on the front. Weird. Hope started to sweep the pellets into the container.

“That really takes me back.”

Wade’s voice made Hope jump. He could move in absolute silence when he wanted to. “Don’t do that!” Hope scolded him.

Wade ignored her as he wandered over. “Halloween pumpkins, candy, costumes, more candy, scaring kids and stealing their candy, being sick after eating stolen candy… Man. Halloween is my favourite time of the year.” A gloved finger poked at the orange container.

“Halloween?”

Wade stared at her strangely for a moment. “You don’t know what’s… oh, that’s right. Thermonuclear disasters and asshole timestream hunters. And if I recall, Nate was never really one for the season, anyway. Or any seasons.”

“Oh.” Talking about Nate inevitably made Hope feel sad, and not in the least bit guilty. Nate could’ve arrived at the jump spot at any time in the last few days and she wouldn’t have been there. It sure felt a lot like abandonment, even if Nate could clearly take care of himself.

Wade took the container from her and shoved the rest of the pellets into it. “C’mon. I’ll tell you.” Hope was dragged to the aisle with the faded plastic containers and packets. “See. This is a pumpkin, or a fake pumpkin, anyway. You cut faces onto it and you put a candle inside after you scoop it out. That’s Halloween candy, which I will later eat until I am sick because I feel like reminiscing. These are amusing fake spiders. And these,” Wade patted a rack with pride, “are costumes.”

Hope stared at the clothes in the sealed packs. Most of the packs had been breached or torn, but a few near the back were still intact. She picked out one, which contained a black outfit with a pointy hat.

“Witch costume. Good choice,” Wade said.

“What do you like?” Hope asked.

“I always go as a zombie,” Wade was browsing the other costumes on the rack. “The living dead? Walks like this?” Wade tilted his head back, put his arms limply at his sides, and began to stagger in a lurching walk that made Hope giggle. “’Sides, it’s the one day in the whole year that I used to be able to go out in public without an image projector and people would want to take pictures with me. Usually, they run away screaming.”

Hope chewed on her lower lip. Wade was very rarely even pensive, let alone sad. He usually operated on a hyperdrive of occasionally psychotic cheerfulness. Sometimes Hope thought that it was an act for her sake, but if it was, she couldn’t tell. Like Nate, Wade protected her and taught her how to survive. Unlike Nate, he always explained the swear words. Living with Wade was different. Hope never had the constant impression that she was running for her life. Instead, their rampage through the wastes had kinda been fun.

Showing Wade pity now would demean that. “Wade, go to the next aisle. And no peeking.”

“No peeking at what?”

“I’m going to change into this,” Hope announced, “because it’s Halloween. Then we’re going to eat candy until we’re sick.”

Wade stared at her for a long moment. He grinned through his patchwork mask. “Whatever you say, girl. I’m going to change too. You better not peek.”

“You’re gross,” Hope retorted, pulling a face. Wade vaulted an aisle, whistling to himself, his good mood restored.

The black cloth took a little figuring out. In the end, Hope gave up trying to loosen the rusted clasps and just draped it loosely over her clothes. There was a plastic broomstick with little stickers of small black winged creatures down the side. The broad-brimmed hat drooped over her eyes, even when fluffed up.

“Are you done yet?” Hope called.

“Nope! Oh my great tentacleness Lord Cthulu, there are _batteries_.”

Batteries? “Wade, what are you doing?”

“Making sure my costume is scarier than yours.” There was a sound of something snapping, then a slithering, crackling sound that was vaguely metallic.

“Weren’t you going to be a zombie?”

“Zombie is old. Too old. ‘Sides, my healing factor isn’t all what it used to be. Self-mutilation is not fun when I know it’s going to hurt like a bitch for a week.” Fabric rustled. “Nerf guns! I love this place. Let’s move in and stay here forever.”

“You killed a huge bunch of people up the front and this place stinks like a toilet.”

“Picky, picky. Styrofoam block! These things really don’t biodegrade. Okay, I’m done. You can look now.”

Wary of what she would see, Hope circled the aisle towards Wade’s voice. He was wearing a too-large, sleeveless blue shirt over his uniform. Wade’s left arm was wrapped in aluminium foil, even over his fingers. Wade had wrapped a coin-shaped flashlight over his left eye by winding a length of wire around his head. The broken-off end of a mop handle lay rakishly over Wade’s head like stringy hair. Wade also held a huge plastic blue and yellow gun in his right hand. As Hope gawked, Wade flicked something in the flashlight and it switched on, sputtering weakly.

“Ta-dah! Guess who.”

“Are you dressing up as _Nate_?”

“Pretty good, huh.” Wade picked at the mop-hair. “I mean, I could’ve taken the time to cut this shorter, but it’ll never get to the toilet brush state of Nate’s hair, and using a real toilet brush probably needs a lot of glue, so I figured, what the hell.”

Hope giggled. She ran forward to wrap her arms around Wade’s leg, grateful and fiercely glad to be alive. She hadn’t felt this way since the settlement. 

Wade froze, then he patted her hair with aluminium foil-wrapped fingers. “I have a Styrofoam block, a knife and a can of orange paint. Let’s go carve us a pumpkin.”

#

Nate was beginning to despair of ever finding Hope again until he found the supermarket. There were bodies at the entrance, long scavenged to bones. Raiders, all killed by precise bladework. Under the shade of a large piece of rusted debris was a haphazardly carved pumpkin out of Styrofoam. Someone had spray-painted it orange.

Nate picked it up. The paint looked fairly recent. Nate turned it over. On the base was a familiar child’s scrawl, cut into the styrofoam with a knife:

‘Happy Hall Loweeen! By Hope and Wade.’ Behind the pumpkin was a crumpled ball of aluminium foil, a witch’s hat, and a pile of candy wrappers.

Nate smiled. He put the Styrofoam pumpkin back down and went into the Walmart. There was little else left inside that was usable. Nate walked out of the Walmart and continued westwards. The few nomads he had met had told him that someone had been killing raiders. Nate had decided to check it out because he had no other leads.

The bladework on the corpses and on the bodies of the last lair he had seen were the same. That was promising. At least he now had a fair idea of where Wade and Hope were heading and what they were doing. Reckless as going after raiders was to a normal person, it was probably logical to what was left of Wade’s brain.

The next raider camp he found had also been cleaned out, but the next after that was still in use. Nate settled down to wait. A set of rocky cliffs that provided some cover and shelter, hiding him from the camp entrenched in an old bus port. This one even had a rickety lookout made of old tyres and stacked cars.

On the fourth day, just as his supplies were beginning to run out, Nate had a stroke of luck. Shouts and screams broke out from the raider camp. And that was definitely Wade’s maniacal laughter. Nate rose out of cover, slipping and sliding down scree towards the camp. The lookout was dead, slumped over a car. Just as Nate reached the camp, Wade cut the throat of the last man, wiping his blade clean on scavenged leather.

Wade looked a lot better than the last time Nate had seen him. His costume had deteriorated further into patchwork scraps, but it looked like his healing factor had returned. Hope was nowhere to be seen.

“…Auld lang synnne—” Wade crooned. As Nate took another step forward, Wade whirled, blade at the ready. He froze. “Nate?”

“Wade. Where’s Hope?”

Wade narrowed his eyes. “One sec. Prove that you’re not Stryfe.”

Nate sighed, holding up his left arm. “Virus.”

“Oh. Right.” Wade lowered his blade, then sheathed it at his boot. “No implanted murderous intentions? Mental takeovers? Clones? Schizophrenia? Infinity Gauntlet? Alternative Universe?”

“Wade. Is Hope well?” Nate controlled his temper carefully. He couldn’t sense anyone else out in the wilderness with his diminished telepathy, other than a few animal minds. He’d taught Hope how to hide from telepaths himself.

“Well your bloody-mindedness does sound like the Nate that fangirls love and cherish.” Wade put his fingers to his lips and whistled sharply.

Hope emerged from her hiding spot behind rocks further down the road. She whooped as she recognised him. “Nate!” Her joyous, familiar cry was the best sound Nate had ever heard.

#

A week or so ago Hope had decided that they should shack up somewhere instead of sleeping rough all the time. She’d chosen an abandoned hut under a partially collapsed highway. The previous owner had shored up the huge slabs of concrete with judiciously placed rocks and old beams, and had roofed the rest over with corrugated iron, scree, and vegetation. From afar, if there was no chimney smoke, the house couldn’t be easily seen. It ran the length of the fallen slab of concrete. Three exits, five rooms, and a semi-attic that served as a lookout point. It even sat close to one of the few rivers that still had running water.

Wade could tell that Nate didn’t like the idea of settling down, even if he was too polite to say so when Hope proudly showed him around the place. She pointing out the rudimentary kitchen, the living room with its collection of scavenged odds and ends, a study complete with the few books they had found here and there that were still legible, and two bedrooms with foldable cots found from Walmarts. The outhouse that served as a bathroom was a short walk away downwind to divert attention, as was the small plot of land that they’d planted and tilled with seeds from vacuum-sealed seed packs that Hope had scavenged.

It wasn’t much of a life. Wade had however spent the last few hundred years in a refrigerator, and Hope had spent most of her life on the run. It was a better life than either of them had had for a while.

Wade sat in the lookout and listened to Nate talk to Hope until Hope fell asleep. He was beginning to doze off himself when Nate finally climbed up into the now-cramped lookout, sitting down beside him.

“Hope said she’s enjoying herself,” Nate said quietly. “Thank you.”

“She’s a good kid.” Wade leaned his head against the cool stone. The tiny room was getting stuffy, and Nate hadn’t exactly been one for hygiene when he was busy. Hope, on the other hand, had insisted on setting up some sort of rainwater tank next to the outhouse for bathing purposes. “How did you find us?”

“Someone was taking out the raider camps. I wasn’t really sure who until I found a signed pumpkin.”

“Oh.”

“Hope said that was the most fun she’d ever had,” Nate said reflectively, scratching absently at days’ old stubble. “The Halloween ‘party’.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself if you are. Tried your best,” Wade said cautiously.

“I know.” Nate looked down at his hands. “But maybe there was something to what Logan said after all. I’m not very good with children. She does deserve a better life. I wasn’t able to give it to her.”

“Just so I know, is she your mom?”

“Is she _what_?”

“Red hair, Summerses continuity…” Wade trailed off at Nate’s expression, and grinned, pulling off his mask. “Just making sure. But seriously, if you really want her to be happy, you should jump back. Back to when there were enchiladas and hotdogs. People who’d be nice to her without waiting to stab her in the back.”

“I can’t jump backwards anymore.”

Wade frowned, looking Nate over. “Technical malfunction?”

“You could say so, yes.”

“Great. Do you have any idea what you’re going to do with her?”

“Keep her safe.”

“Other than that? No plans? Seriously, I know you’re bloody-minded but you can’t be that bloody-minded.” Wade shook his head. “What happened to the ‘I want her to be happy’ or even the ‘I want to teach her to be a good person’ sort of moral force-feeding that comics try to blanket onto their impressionable young readers?”

“Bishop will be back.”

“He can’t reflect a dagger across his neck,” Wade said. “Not that Marvelverse will really let me kill Bishop, but I can sure as hell hurt him good.”

“What’s in this for you?”

Wade had been waiting for that question since the very beginning. It still hurt when it crawled out of Nate’s big mouth. Sure, he was a mercenary, even if money didn’t really exist anymore, but what the hell. He’d _tried_. 

“What, you don’t trust people you can’t read?” Wade sneered.

“You could say that.” At least Nate wasn’t bothering to lie. “I can’t really see why you would go out of your way to help her. I appreciate it, of course, but why?”

“You mean, other than basic human decency?” Wade asked sarcastically. Nate stared back at him, unflinching. Daring him to deny it. Stifling the urge to stab Hope’s father figure in the stomach with his boot knife, Wade stared right back until Nate looked away.

“Do you know who she is?” Nate asked.

“Blah, blah, powerful mutant? Whatever. She’s a good kid,” Wade snapped, folding his arms and scooting as far as he could into the corner. “Would you rather I left her alone out there?”

“I’m thankful that you looked after her,” Nate said.

“But you’d rather it wasn’t me.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Look, you don’t want me here, fine. Have the balls to say it to my face,” Wade said coldly, clenching his teeth and glaring out of the stone window. “I’ll leave in the morning, all right? Or do you want me to pack now?”

“I didn’t say that either,” Nate said softly.

“But you were winding up to it, amirite?”

“I want you to stay,” Nate said. “She’s fond of you.”

“Wow, I went from Supplementary Father Figure and Guardian into Pet, how nice.”

“And I’m… fond of you.”

“In the same way that you’re fond of your gun? What happened to your gun anyway?”

“And so, following how we left off in Providence, I was hoping you’d let me kiss you.” Nate smiled tentatively.

“Okay. I wasn’t expecting that.” Wade tried his best not to look as though he had just perked up, like a fucking Nate groupie. “Especially after you let Wolvie shish kabob me.”

“It wouldn’t have killed you.”

“You can be so fucking sweet,” Wade growled. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“About that kiss, are we doing it this century or what?”

“Right,” Nate looked somewhat at a loss. Sigh. Wade really had to do everything himself. He slipped neatly into Nate’s lap, arms curling over hunched shoulders. Big fingers pushed back his mask and the first kiss tasted awful, but Wade breathed hard through his nose and pushed back with a muffled snarl. Nate’s palms splayed over Wade’s lower back and crushed him closer.

Wade fumbled belts and heavy cloth until they were skin to skin, sucking in a harsh breath as Nate growled and bucked and moaned. Long, blessedly strong fingers curled around them both and squeezed hard enough for Wade to arch and bite down hard on his lower lip. It’d been too damned long since anyone had touched him like this.

It was far too rough to be entirely pleasurable, far too quick to be much relief when they both hit the brink. They slumped against each other in the stuffy lookout, breathing hard, the mess between them slippery and wet. Wade pressed his teeth against Nate’s neck, worrying at the skin until Nate groaned and squirmed against him.

They lay together until their breathing slowed. Wade rolled away onto his back. “You are so cleaning this up.”

“Mm.” Nate tugged at his arm until Wade rolled gingerly back into the broad crook of Nate’s elbow. “So you’re staying?”

Big damned lug didn’t have to sound so hopeful. “Maybe about when you apologize for everything you fucking insinuated.”

“I wasn’t insinuating anything.”

“Remember what I said about the bloody-mindedness?”

“Yes?”

“…Nevermind. Just so you know, if Hope turns out to be your mommy, or a clone of a clone of your mommy, I’m running away screaming.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Twitter: manic_intent  
> Tumblr: manic-intent.tumblr.com  
> \--  
> Terminology:
> 
> Agency X: Mercenary outfit run by Hayden, Deadpool was part of it for a while.  
> Bea Arthur: Running joke in the comics. Deadpool has a crush on the actress.  
> Bob the HYDRA agent: Deadpool’s pet, kidnapped/rescued/etc from HYDRA.  
> Bodyslide tech: Nate’s teleportation technology. At one point it was linked to Deadpool as well because in issue #6 of Cable and Deadpool they got their DNA mixed thanks to a virus. “Bodyslide by one” can have awkward consequences, so Nate usually used to say “Bodyslide by two”, and they’d both teleport. Which might also have awkward consequences.  
> Demi Moore Voice: Running joke in the comics that Deadpool had a “Demee Moore” voice. Who knows even.  
> Graymalkin: Cable’s time-travelling ship.  
> Image inducer: Deadpool has a illusion projection device that can change his face in the comics. Source of several running jokes involving Tom Cruise (Thom Cruz, in the comics).  
> Hope Summers: I still don’t understand Hope’s storyline in the comics, but iirc she was being hunted down by Bishop and Cable was trying to save her. I don’t think she’s actually his daughter in the comics, but who knows really with the Summers family.  
> Minions: Weasel, Blind Al, and Bob the HYDRA agent  
> Nate Grey: Clone of Cable without the TO virus, most powerful mutant in the world by last count in 2009. Who knows about now tbh.  
> Priscilla: Running joke from Wade about how long Nate’s real name is, so he likes to make up an extra name for Nate.  
> Providence: A floating socialist utopia that Nate founded at the height of his powers. Did not end well.  
> Teleport belt: Deadpool has a teleport belt in the comics.  
> TK: Telekinesis.  
> TO: Techno-Organic virus, the short-form for the metal part of Cable.  
> Yellow/White Boxes: Wade tends to hold at least two internal monologues in the comics, designated by differently coloured boxes.


End file.
